


who cares about your lonely heart

by Elenothar



Series: the winged soul flies closest to the sun [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Asexual Character, Developing Relationship, Fix-It, Multi, Wingfic, they all need some mental health days
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-21
Updated: 2015-06-26
Packaged: 2018-04-05 11:11:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 28,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4177608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elenothar/pseuds/Elenothar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the Battle for Coruscant, Obi-Wan has wings, a Sith Lord to handle, and a former Padawan who's still not following a code of conduct for the Jedi. Facing the Sith Lord might be the easy part.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [What's An Angel?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2802527) by [dogmatix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dogmatix/pseuds/dogmatix), [norcumi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/norcumi/pseuds/norcumi). 



> This is based on the beautiful gift-fic 'What's An Angel?' by norcumi and dogmatix probably makes more sense if that's read first, though it's not absolutely necessary.
> 
> Great, big, overwhelming, thanks to norcumi for betaing and generally being helpful and supportive and making this a much better story than it would otherwise have been.
> 
> I hope you enjoy the read!

Part I

***

Obi-Wan sighed as he looked over the report about the absence of any intel on Grievous’ location for the third time. The droid general was all that stood in the way of a finally ending the war, but he’d simply vanished into thin air. And the Jedi were spread too thin to devote the resources they should to find him, instead having to rely on clone intelligence.

His comlink buzzed on the table and he didn’t need the Force to know who was calling.

“Where are you, Anakin?” he asked, somewhat irritable. “You were supposed to be at the briefing.”

He was expecting some manner of teasing in return, but Anakin’s voice was completely serious. “I’m at the Senate. Chancellor Palpatine wants to talk to me.”

“About what?”

“No idea, but…” Anakin hesitated, his voice going curiously tight. “I have a bad feeling about things, Obi-Wan. Something’s wrong.”

Obi-Wan frowned. He was experienced enough not to immediately dismiss such concerns out of hand. “Anything specific?”

“Padmé is in danger,” Anakin said, and suddenly his agitation made perfect sense to Obi-Wan. “I can feel it. And I’m still waiting for the Chancellor. Could you go make sure she’s all right?”

“You know that air-traffic is still highly restricted after the battle. It would take me hours to get to 500 Republica.”

Anakin made a sound of annoyance and Obi-Wan could almost see him brushing a hand through his hair in frustration. “What about the Jedi privileges?”

Obi-Wan sighed. “Did you not read the last political briefing? The recent security act that your _friend_ Palpatine pushed through revoked almost all our special rights on Coruscant.”

He could hear the frown in Anakin’s voice. “What? Why? What does the Senate gain from that?”

“I wish I knew. I _told_ you things between the Chancellor and the Jedi are tense.”

Anakin was silent for a moment. “You could fly.”

Now it was Obi-Wan’s turn to frown. “I’m trying to be _inconspicuous_ , Anakin. Flying through Coruscant in broad daylight isn’t exactly subtle.”

“Master, please,” Anakin said, and there was no mistaking the plea in his voice. “I really feel that there is danger, and you’re the only one I can ask.”

Obi-Wan suppressed a sigh. Anakin knew full well that it was very hard for Obi-Wan to say no to him, especially when he unpacked that tone of voice. “Fine. But you owe me dinner for this.”

“I rather think _you_ still owe _me_ ,” Anakin returned, his flippancy doing nothing to disguise his stark relief. “And Master? Please hurry.”

“I’ll leave immediately,” Obi-Wan promised, already tugging off his robe. It would only get in the way of his wings, though he loathed losing the anonymity a low hood could afford him.

While he’d always appreciated the balcony that came attached to many of the rooms put aside for Masters, now he had a more practical reason to be glad for the small space outside from which to launch himself. His face tensed slightly in concentration as he altered his appearance, great wings bursting forth from his back. The best he could describe the process was that it was like flipping a switch in his brain – a switch that he could only find with intense focus, and once flipped it took a similar amount of concentration to switch back. For a while after he’d discovered his unique physiology on a mission with Qui-Gon he’d tried to find explanations for it, tried to figure out the physics behind wings capable of bearing a fully grown human, but in the end he’d had to make do with Qui-Gon’s reminder that _in the Force, all things are possible_.

He perched on the railing for a moment, then with one big flap took off into the darkening sky.

There was something _other_ about gliding through Coruscant’s glittering sky without the noise of an engine, cutting through the air purely under his own power – a freedom that Obi-Wan would deny wanting quite so badly if anyone asked, but wanted nonetheless. Swift as a gleaming shadow he passed through airlanes and past innumerable windows, cloaked in the Force as to avoid detection.

Padmé was out on the balcony when he landed, staring at him with wide eyes.

Obi-Wan folded his wings behind his back somewhat self-consciously before vanishing them completely.

“Milady,” he murmured, dipping into an aborted bow.

Padmé’s gaze hung in the space behind his shoulder blades for another moment, then she visibly shook herself out of her daze. She puffed up, no doubt ready to give him a piece of her mind about his continued insistence on titles, then noticed the twinkle in his eyes and deflated again with a slightly rueful laugh.

“Obi-Wan, it’s good to see you. This is… something of a shock.”

“Oh, so you don’t routinely have winged men landing on your private balcony?” Obi-Wan inquired innocently.

She gave him a dirty look, then motioned inside. “Do you want anything? Refreshments, tea?”

“Tea would be lovely.” Obi-Wan inclined his head. “It _is_ good to see you, Padmé, all teasing aside. I just wish it were under better circumstances.”

She froze in mid-motion, her voice strangled when she asked, “Has something happened to Anakin?”

He shook his head and could see the sudden tension leaving her slight frame once more. “No, but he is worried about you. His feelings tell him you’re in danger.” He smiled wryly. “I’ve learned the hard way to take Anakin’s feelings seriously.”

“And so he sent you to make sure I’m alright.”

“Just as you say.”

Padmé frowned for a moment, then clearly came to the conclusion that what Anakin wanted to do, Anakin did and there was little use arguing about it.

“In that case, make yourself comfortable. I haven’t seen you in far too long.” She was clearly trying to suppress her anxiety in typical Padmé fashion, but even as she busied herself leading Obi-Wan to the sofa and calling for C-3PO to bring refreshments there was a slightly pinched expression on her face that told of her concerns.

“Did Anakin say anything more specific?” she finally asked, settling down next to Obi-Wan. “Not that I’m not grateful for your presence, I’m sure you can deal with whatever danger there is, but – ”

“It’s understandable to be concerned,” Obi-Wan gently interrupted her sentence before it could entirely run away from her. “In all honesty, so am I. Anakin’s feeling wasn’t very specific, and not knowing what to expect always puts me on edge.”

It was C-3PO’s exclamation of ‘Oh my, what are you – ’ and then a guttering electronic sigh that alerted Obi-Wan to the possible danger. He jumped up, pushing Padmé behind him in the same motion as he scanned for attackers.

He came face to face with a squad of clones. He had fought beside them for years now and there was a complete lack of malice in their presences even as they pointed blasters at him.

His split second hesitation cost him dearly. A first shot grazed his arm and as his lightsaber began to move in a dizzying blur that kept more shots at bay, pain suddenly flooded his link with Anakin – pain so visceral it was all he could do not to let it bring him to his knees. It felt like someone was attempting to saw through their bond with a rusty nail.

His guard dropped.

Obi-Wan barely heard Padmé’s concerned shout before three stun bolts hit him straight on and his nerveless fingers opened around the hilt of his lightsaber. He hit the ground shortly after his weapon did.

*

Waking up from being stunned was never a pleasant affair, generally accompanied by muscle spasms and the taste of blood in one’s mouth as it was. However, Obi-Wan felt that being dragged along a hard, cold floor by former comrades in arms with his hands shackled behind him came especially close to the top of the ever-growing list of ‘situations Obi-Wan Kenobi (Jedi Master) would rather not wake up in’.

The Force was still there, thank the gods, though the pounding in his head was hardly conducive to focus. His mind _ached_ where the psychic wound still lingered; at least his bond with Anakin was still mostly intact – the attack must’ve been meant as a distraction more than anything else. A quick mental stretch revealed that Padmé was near him and conscious, also moving in the same troop of clones. The bright presence they were moving towards was also familiar. Normally Obi-Wan would be happy about shortly being in Anakin’s company – it tended to make escapes ever so much easier – but a bad feeling had lodged itself deep in his gut. There was no scenario in which a decently smart captor would want him and Padmé reunited with Anakin that was in any way reassuring. Instead it was just _very worrying_.

Obi-Wan chanced a glance upwards and frowned. The hallway they were currently traversing looked suspiciously like the ones in the _Senate_ building, except that that made absolutely no sense. While generally quiet at night, it would still be a tremendous risk to forcefully escort a well-known Senator and a Jedi Master on the High Council through the seat of the Galactic Senate.

His bad feeling was quickly morphing into a _very_ bad feeling, and then only got worse when he realized that the door the clones were dragging them towards led to the Supreme Chancellor’s Office. He allowed himself a moment of absolute disbelief before putting it aside – denial would not help them here.

Padmé’s presence had gone from frightened to tumultuous when she’d realized the same thing, a dark streak of betrayal lancing through her artificial calm. Obi-Wan was almost glad that he couldn’t see her face – and then halted mentally in his tracks when he realized that Anakin was in that room. Anakin, who’d always counted Chancellor Palpatine as his friend, as a confidante when he couldn’t talk to Obi-Wan, no matter how much the latter had tried to prohibit that habit.

 _Oh, Anakin_.

The door opened.

Obi-Wan wouldn’t soon forget the look of impotent rage on Anakin’s face, as he stared towards them in the doorway. The other person in the room was indeed Palpatine, and though he didn’t seem to be outwardly threatening Anakin, the aura of darkness had thickened and there was a small cruel smile on his face that couldn’t have been more unsettling if it’d tried.

Obi-Wan was almost too preoccupied to realize the short drop was coming as the clones let his limp body fall to the floor. He grunted – with his hands bound behind him, cushioning his fall proved a tad difficult.

His new eye line proved unenlightening, save for one thing. Obi-Wan squinted. Was that Rex’s blaster pistol on the ground? The clone himself was nowhere to be seen, which wasn’t a good sign. Rex never willingly let go of his trusted weapons. Somewhere out of his field of vision the _clomp clomp clomp_ of the clones’ booted feet receded, leaving only stifling silence.

His throat constricted around a startled noise as an invisible force tightened around him, raising his body until he stood. The binders fell away.

“You’ll hardly need those,” Palpatine said, voice smooth satin.

Obi-Wan suppressed a shiver that became a full-blown twitch when he tried to move and found that he couldn’t. Not even a single finger would obey his command; the whole scenario was unsettlingly close to a few of the nightmares that had plagued him over the years.

Palpatine was now standing so close to him that Obi-Wan could smell his rancid breath, could count the lines marring his face and he wouldn’t be ashamed to say that it was one of the most intensely uncomfortable situations he’d ever found himself in.

Palpatine smiled, an expression of such viciousness that Obi-Wan half thought he would’ve taken a step back had he been able to. Next to him Padmé was frozen with a similar expression of horror on her face, her fear coiling in the Force, only overshadowed by the darkness radiating from Palpatine.

_Great Force, how could we not have sensed this before?_

Obi-Wan’s hand twitched with the force of his need for a lightsaber in his hand – he had faced down Maul and Dooku more times than he ever could’ve wished and yet their darkness had been nothing, _nothing_ compared to Palpatine’s. Obi-Wan had wondered, sometimes, in the privacy of his own mind, how the Sith Master they’d been searching for could possible feel worse to the senses than Maul’s putrid decay and Dooku’s ice cold rage, but even then he’d not been foolish enough to want to find out.

His fingers twitched again, this time as much with anger as with instinct because this was the man who’d made the galaxy suffer for years, made the Jedi suffer, made Anakin suffer, made _him_ suffer. This man had stolen the lives of so many and Obi-Wan wanted the fucker to be as dead as could be, right now, preferably with fire and he _still fucking couldn’t move_. Perhaps he would’ve lost himself in this moment of unforgiving rage, if Palpatine had not smiled at him, slow and satisfied, as if he enjoyed Obi-Wan’s anger. The thought might as well have been a shower of ice water, dousing the flames with tiredness. The last thing he wanted to do was give Palpatine the satisfaction.

Finally the Sith Lord turned away from him, his attention refocusing on Anakin. No matter how uncomfortable his scrutiny had been, Obi-Wan would’ve preferred that to having to watch Palpatine turn that attention on his… on Anakin instead.

“Now, my future apprentice, time to make a choice.” Palpatine’s smile widened. “Kill one of them, or I will kill them both.”

At Obi-Wan’s side, a blood-red lightsaber sprang into life, close enough to his arm that he could feel it scorching his tunics.

Anakin’s disbelieving horror burst into Obi-Wan’s senses like a supernova. “ _What_?”

“You heard me.” Palpatine’s eyes glinted in the half-darkness. His hand moved ever so slightly, and Obi-Wan hissed as the red blade left an actual burn on his skin. As far as demonstrations of power went, it was convincing enough. One swipe of his arm and Obi-Wan would be dead, and Padmé would follow less than a second later. Not even Anakin would be fast enough to save them.

Anakin’s eyes locked onto Obi-Wan’s, wide and desperate.

 _/Anakin, you have to choose me. Remember what you learned about me not long ago./_ Obi-Wan didn’t dare send more than that – bonds between Jedi were sacred for those in the light, and as far as they knew what was said through them couldn’t be overheard, but he wasn’t inclined to take any chances. Palpatine had already proven that he had powers the Jedi had never conceived of. The still raw spot in his mind where his bond with Anakin resided was proof enough of that

He did his best to send gentle warmth and the impression of a smile. _/And whatever happens, Anakin, I will always forgive you. You know that./_

Anakin’s features twisted in sorrow and horrible doubt, but one shaking hand rose, summoning Rex’s blaster to his palm. His fingers clenched tightly enough to make the blaster handle creak, and then, before anyone could say anything else, he fired.

Burning pain exploded in Obi-Wan’s stomach, overshadowing his thought of _thank the Force_. The force holding him in place vanished and he fell to the floor, eyes pressed shut to prevent tears of agony from escaping.

Somewhere far away, Palpatine was laughing and Anakin was drowning in guilt.

It was the second realization that made him stave off shock from setting in long enough to act. The amount of concentration needed to force his change was almost beyond him, and what he planned to do was even harder. He couldn’t alert Palpatine to what he was doing, which meant that a full change was out of the question, but he needed his slightly different physique to have any chance of surviving a blaster shot to the stomach. If it weren’t for the knowledge burning in his heart that he _had_ to do this or everything was lost, it would’ve been impossible. But with Anakin’s pain and guilt creeping into his mind through the bond, the man that was Obi-Wan Kenobi could not surrender – would not surrender. The need to help his former Padawan was so intrinsic to his being that there simply was no other choice.

When Obi-Wan laboriously opened his eyes, Palpatine appeared in his field of vision, but the Sith Lord was paying him no heed. Light began to gather around Obi-Wan’s midsection, the curves of his body growing ever so slightly more slender, his bones losing weight. At the same time, half his concentration was needed to keep his wings from erupting from his back. No matter how distracted, there was no way Palpatine wouldn’t notice _that_.

As soon as the pain had lessened enough for him to move without blacking out, Obi-Wan jumped. Towering wings fanned out behind him, propelling him towards Palpatine. The Sith half turned, eyes widening. Obi-Wan didn’t afford him the split-second that he would’ve needed to raise his lightsaber.

Light and dark collided, Jedi and Sith tumbling to the floor in an uncontrolled heap. Palpatine’s lightsaber rolled away and he screeched as pure Force light touched his skin in all the places where Obi-Wan had wrapped himself around him. The sound raised the hairs on the back of Obi-Wan’s neck and his wings shuddered where they had folded around his adversary, blocking his movements.

Palpatine continued howling, but even in his agony he brought the Force to bear and then it was Obi-Wan who was screaming as darkness bit into his wings, his hands, his legs, acidic and burning.

“Anakin!” he screamed around the pain clogging his throat, fighting the rising black in his vision. “Now!”

A beam of blue light struck once, barely avoiding various flailing limbs before it cut cleanly through Palpatine’s neck.

In a second their struggle ceased, Palpatine falling limp as Obi-Wan released his hold.

The Force wrapped around him, soothing even as it whispered a warning. With a strangled shout, Obi-Wan gathered his last vestiges of energy and grabbed Anakin by the lapel, propelling them both backwards towards Padmé. They went down hard on the carpeted floor and Obi-Wan’s wings flared in a protective shield just as Palpatine’s body exploded in a burst of dark energy powerful enough to slam them all into the nearest wall.

The Sith Lord left only ash behind.

“Well, that could’ve been worse,” Obi-Wan groaned and promptly lost consciousness.

*

“ – just because you’re an angel now doesn’t mean that your self-sacrificial streak is validated, you stubborn –”

The voice carried on in a similar vein, demonstrating a vast vocabulary of insults and general profanity that brought a small smile to Obi-Wan’s lips. He drifted for a while, letting Anakin’s babble wash over him, secure in the knowledge that whatever had happened after he’d passed out his former Padawan seemed to be just fine, judging by the fact that he could sit next to Obi-Wan in what had to be the medical wing in the Temple bitching at him about almost dying _again_ for minutes on end.

With this degree of consciousness, however, other concerns also made themselves known – among them the fact that he seemed to be… floating? There was certainly nothing solid below him. His body gave an instinctual twitch, not comfortable with the absence of steady surface beneath it. The resulting clatter made him wince and also made it very clear that Anakin had not missed the small motion.

“Master! Can you hear me?”

His head pounded sluggishly at the added volume assaulting his sensitive ears. “Not so loud, Anakin. Your shouting could wake the dead.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes opened to find Anakin’s face hovering only centimetres above his own. In one of his less glorious moments, he yelped.

Anakin frowned. “I wasn’t speaking that loudly.”

Obi-Wan’s head gave another angry throb, though perhaps this time it was more his eyes complaining about the golden halo around everything. He might be very fond of his former Padawan but he really didn’t need to see him lit up with an inner fire like some sort of romantic storybook hero. He blinked once, twice, and the effect dimmed somewhat.

Still feeling somewhat detached from most of his body, Obi-Wan attempted to clear his parched throat and asked, “Why do I appear to be floating?”

A glass of water was thrust in front of his face with all the subtlety of a herd of stampeding banthas, but for once he didn’t complain and only accepted the offering gratefully.

“Um,” Anakin said, vaguely motioning with his hands. “You’ve still got wings, Master. They couldn’t figure out how to let you lie down without damaging them further so the healers used a suspension field.”

Obi-Wan pushed aside his first immediate reaction to make himself as small as possible in the Force in an attempt to hide in favour of sighing. That certainly explained why his hearing was so sensitive and his eyes gone all weird.

“Ah,” he said, unenthusiastically. “I assume that means everyone knows now?”

Anakin shrugged, only looking somewhat guilty. “In between us getting you here from the Senate and through half the Temple? Yeah, I’d say so.” He pointed a stern finger at Obi-Wan. “And before you get ideas about changing back right this instant, and _don’t_ try to tell me you weren’t thinking it, I know you better than that” – Obi-Wan subsided with a grumble – “the healers wouldn’t advise it. Your wings aren’t healed up fully and since no one knows what happens to them when you’re, um, _you_ , they’d rather be able to keep them under observation. They want you to keep your form as it is right now, actually, to avoid you accidentally interfering with the healing process.”

Obi-Wan sighed again. Oh Force – more time with the healers, just what he’d always dreamed of.

Clearly anticipating Obi-Wan’s grumpiness, Anakin grinned. “Look at it this way, Master. At least you don’t have to deal with all the politicians and committees mobbing everyone else about what happened. I swear, if one more journalist attempts to ask Master Windu whether the Jedi Order was aware of Palpatine’s affiliation with the Sith he’s going to kill someone.”

In retrospect, Obi-Wan wasn’t really all that cut up about having slept through most of the aftermath.

As it turned out, when Anakin said ‘your wings aren’t fully healed’, what he meant was ‘there are great big black swirls on them’.

The first time Obi-Wan managed to stand unassisted, the hole in his stomach reduced to a mild throbbing annoyance, and walked the short distance to the fresher, he found himself in front of the mirror, staring at his altered reflection. At the moment he looked like a cross between his usual form and what Anakin had termed – much to Obi-Wan’s annoyance – his ‘angelic’ form. While his features were still undeniably _him_ , there was a slight golden sheen to his skin, his cheekbones were a bit more prominent, much as the rest of his body felt lighter than usual and his eyes glowed slightly, though still in their customary blue-grey colour. His wings flexed behind his back, an unconscious gesture of discomfort, dragging his gaze to the golden feathers. They weren’t entirely light anymore. Expansive swirls of black now crisscrossed what had once been a unified colour; they looked like he imagined a tattoo would look like that had been _burned_ on instead of inked. One wing curled forward and his fingertips reached out to feel along the smooth ridges. It perhaps unsettled him even more than their existence that he could feel absolutely no difference between the healthy part of his wings and the burned part.

He could still remember Palpatine’s dark energy spilling from his body, wrapping around Obi-Wan in a desperate defence. Obi-Wan’s body still bore the marks of the dark fire, burns slow to heal and easily aggravated, but at least they were, as far as the healers could tell, _normal_ burns. No one knew what to make of the changes to his wings.

From a certain point of view one might look upon the marks as decoration, their elegant swirls not displeasing to the eye. From another, they could be scars, born of the fight that determined the future of the Republic. For Obi-Wan, they would always be memories, both of the pain that Palpatine’s darkness inflicted and of the burning relief in Anakin’s eyes when the Sith Lord finally died.

He sighed quietly and closed his eyes for a moment before turning away from the mirror. There was nothing he could do about it at the moment, so he might as well try to rest some more so that the Healers finally deemed him recovered enough to leave this blasted place.

*

Obi-Wan was quite aware that his irritation was leaking through his shields, forming into the Force equivalent of a thundercloud hovering above his head as he made his way back to his rooms from the Temple commissary. He disliked having to eat there on principle, preferring to make his own food (a trait happily fostered by Qui-Gon who’d shared his suspicions about some of the ingredients of the communal meals – and, incidentally, had had little in the way of culinary talents himself), though these last few years he’d been forced to do so more often than not due to time constraints. Lately however the experience had become nigh unbearable. Though Jedi were taught enough control early on not to approach him outright, whispers and stares followed Obi-Wan wherever he went in the Temple; the only reason the commissary was particularly bad was that by the nature of its function he couldn’t opt for a strategic retreat if he wanted to eat his food, however unappetizing.

Obi-Wan hated being the centre of attention – except that Jedi didn’t hate, so he _strongly_ disliked it instead. Suffice to say the last two weeks had been very trying. There was a bloody good reason why he didn’t usually run around with great shining wings on his back. They weren’t exactly inconspicuous and quite ran counter to Obi-Wan’s intrinsic taste for subtlety. At least their conspicuousness drew attention away from his changed features.

Said wings twitched in irritation as he passed another pair of gawking Padawans. If the healers didn’t lift their restriction on not letting him vanish his wings again soon, they’d have to deal with one very pissed off Jedi Master. He’d already been pushed rather close to the edge of his endurance when even his fellow Council members had kept glancing at the appendages hanging somewhat awkwardly over the back of his seat. The urge to wipe that annoying little smirk from Mace’s face would’ve made a lesser Jedi buckle. Yoda hadn’t been much better with his oh-so innocent query whether they should invest in a new chair to fit his altered physique. Just because the little troll required a special seat didn’t mean he had to rub everyone else’s face in it.

As horrible as all this was, that was only within the temple, where people at least knew him personally, as Obi-Wan Kenobi – not as General Kenobi or the Negotiator or some other rubbish title someone had seen fit to saddle him with during the war. He hadn’t dared to go outside ever since he’d been released from the halls of healing. Between Anakin’s stories about being all but mobbed by the press on his way to the Senate and Obi-Wan’s own current inability to sustain a powerful enough see-me-not to hide his wings for longer than a few minutes at his depleted energy levels, he really wasn’t keen to show his face anywhere outside the Temple. He knew well the fickleness of the media spotlight and was quite certain that most would forget all about him when the next big news story rolled along, but in his humble opinion, that new story could really _hurry the kriff up_.

It was entirely possible that he was in dire need of an extended mediation session.

Or maybe he just needed to get off Coruscant for a while – surely the rest of the galaxy couldn’t be so hell-bent on hounding the ‘saviours of the Republic’ as the people here seemed to be?

The more he thought about the idea, the more he grew to like it. Force knew he’d earned some downtime at this stage, and Anakin too. The war was as good as over after the capitulation of the majority of the Separatist council, and a watchful peace had fallen over the galaxy, which meant that finally they weren’t needed as badly anymore – and they could always play the Sith Killer card if the Council tried to protest. Grievous was still at large, but it would only be a matter of time until they ran him off his durasteel claws.

He palmed open his door, not in the least surprised to find Anakin and Padmé waiting for him – the former with a knowing smile on his lips that testified to his knowledge of Obi-Wan’s current mood.

“Wait a moment, will you?” Obi-Wan directed, sweeping past them towards the comm-console.

He barely paid attention to Anakin’s mutter of, “Uh-oh, that’s his determined face – there’re going to be explosions soon.”

Neither of them had made a big fuss of Obi-Wan’s current appearance, which he was grateful for, even if it meant suffering through their collective impertinence.

“I do believe the usual expression is ‘fireworks’?” Padmé murmured, one eyebrow raised.

“Believe me, explosions is way more accurate,” Anakin replied wryly.

“Quiet you two, “Obi-Wan admonished absent-mindedly, punching in a sequence he could rattle off in his sleep at this point.

Mace Windu replied almost instantly and didn’t look too happy about it. “What is it, Obi-Wan? We’ve only just _finished_ the last Council meeting.”

“This isn’t Council business, Mace,” Obi-Wan said, which was at least half true. “This is me requesting leave for myself and Knight Skywalker. And by requesting I hope you understand that I mean we’re going to go on leave because we’ve earned it whatever you have to say about it.” He inclined his head. “Of course I’d rather it be sanctioned.”

Mace sighed, clearly already seeing any chance at foisting some of the public relations nightmares off onto Obi-Wan go out the window.

“Is this really necessary?”

Obi-Wan gritted his teeth. “Unless you want to have an investigation into a Jedi Master murdering spree on your hands, _yes_ it’s necessary.”

“Fine. Yoda has been harping on about ‘rest even Jedi need’ anyway. Just remain contactable in case of an emergency, Obi-Wan.”

He nodded. “Of course.”

“May the Force be with you.”

Mace signed off before Obi-Wan could reply, probably to go complain to Yoda. Those two took a strange glee in their little tiffs. Well, Obi-Wan had always thought – privately – that Yoda could be quite a contrary bastard and happily so.

Obi-Wan released a long breath, and with it some of his brewing tension.

“The Naboo value the privacy of our citizens,” Padmé said from the sofa, casually enough that Obi-Wan immediately looked up suspiciously.

“While wonderful for the Naboo, last I checked I wasn’t a Naboo citizen, Senator.”

She scowled at his use of her title, but only for a moment, before something rather more mischievous took up residence on her features. “Did no one tell you? The heroes of Naboo were awarded honorary citizen status years ago.”

Obi-Wan’s wings flared in surprise. While he had decades of practice keeping his tells in entirely human form to a minimum, he hadn’t yet mastered the same skill with his wings – inconveniently emotive as they insisted on being.

“What? I’m quite certain you at least have to ask the person in question before bestowing citizenship.”

“All necessary papers were provided,” Padmé said. Her tone of pure innocence was only matched by the expression on Anakin’s face.

Obi-Wan sighed in exasperation. “Does your Master know he raised a manipulative sneak, Knight Skywalker?”

Anakin smirked. “He knows I learned from the best.”

“Brat.”

“Stodgy old man.”

Obi-Wan cleared his throat to hide his smile. “So, Naboo. When can we leave?”

“We were making plans to go there to visit Padmé’s family anyway,” Anakin spoke up, leaning comfortably against his wife’s shoulder, “since I was never really officially introduced to them. But we have to wait until the healers have cleared you.”

Obi-Wan scowled. “When did you become the responsible one? As you can see I’m perfectly fine.”

“Except for the fact that you’re projecting enough irritation to scare off even the bravest of Padawans,” Anakin pointed out wryly, making Padmé muffle a snigger behind her hand.

Said irritation flared along with his wings. “If they would just stop _staring_ –”

“Master,” Anakin interrupted with remarkable patience, “you’re a human running around with glowing Force wings. Of course they’re going to stare.”

“Well, they could be less blatant about it,” Obi-Wan grumbled, but let the matter drop, aware that at this point he was just flogging a dead bantha.

“I’ll make arrangements for travelling to Naboo,” Padmé said decisively before grumbling about a different topic could start and rose from the sofa.

Anakin immediately jumped up as well. “Right, I’ll just, uh, come with you then.”

Obi-Wan sighed. It was getting harder and harder to resist the urge to roll his eyes around these two.

*

Afternoon tea was interrupted by the gentle chiming of the doorbell. The young Padawan on the other side of the door looked rather intimidated to be faced with two of the most well-known Jedi all at once, one of whom completely blocked the doorway by virtue of sporting huge wings on his back – and wasn’t Master Kenobi supposed to be human? – and stumbled over her words. “There’s a clone at the entrance asking for Generals Skywalker and Kenobi?”

The poor Padawan was clearly out of her depth, nervous gaze flittering between their faces as she hovered in the doorway.

Obi-Wan exchanged a glance with Anakin, and then they both said at the same time, “Show him here!”

Neither of them voiced their thoughts, but Obi-Wan knew they were both thinking the same thing: Rex.

When the door opened to the Captain, Obi-Wan sighed quietly in relief.

He could physically see another bit of the burden Anakin had carried since that day fall away. Truth be told he was rather glad to see the clone captain himself – one didn’t fight alongside such a man for years without forming some bonds of friendship, never mind the no attachment clause. There was only so far one could detach oneself from the world around one without consequences.

“Generals,” Rex saluted, always proper, but Obi-Wan would swear to a relieved glint in his dark eyes.

“What happened, Rex?” Anakin asked, smile still wide enough to light the room. “We thought you were dead.”

Rex looked uncomfortable for a moment, scratching the back of his head with an almost sheepish expression on his face.

“Some superior gave the order to have me arrested. Jesse got me out. Everyone had their orders, but in the absence of any kind of convincing argument as to why…” Rex shrugged. “He got me out before less independent-minded clones could be sent. I laid low for a while, and the army is in disarray anyway.”

His distaste at the notion was clear.

Anakin had slipped away at some point into the explanation, reappearing as quickly as he’d gone with a familiar blaster pistol in his hand.

He offered it to Rex, who grinned and took it – gentle fingers immediately went through the routine check, entirely on autopilot.

“Why did you leave it?”

Rex shrugged, still looking rather embarrassed. “I figured it’d make its way to you at some point, Generals, and that you’d know something was wrong.”

The simple trust in the statement was staggering, and not for the first time Obi-Wan felt torn between helplessly shaking his head and an overflowing heart at these troops that he’d never expected to come to value so much.

Rex was staring at Obi-Wan in a way that definitely went beyond the usual fond feelings at finding his generals still in one piece. It was a testament to how used he’d already got to the situation that it took him a moment to realise why. His wings twitched ever so slightly in an aborted effort to hide themselves from view. He’d been sending out light waves of Force suggestion for anyone not resistant to that kind of thing to _not_ notice his unusual appendages completely instinctually, but the suggestion must’ve failed when he relaxed too far in Rex’s familiar presence.

“With all due respect, sir,” Rex said, still staring – and when had a sentence starting with that ever been one Obi-Wan wanted to hear the rest of – “why do you have glowing wings the size of a bantha?”

Obi-Wan bit back his first instinct to snap because Force gods was he getting tired of that question. Rex deserved better than that, not only as a comrade who’d served loyally by his side for years and saved his skin more than a few times, but as a friend.

“Genetics. I’m half Iegan.”

Rex frowned, clearly trying to place the race.

“Angels from the moon of Iego,” Anakin said helpfully, not at all daunted by the glare Obi-Wan threw his way. Oh how he missed the days when his Padawan had been a little shrimp still intimidated by Obi-Wan’s masterliness – not that those days had lasted long in the first place, but a man could dream.

Rex’s eyebrows twitched. “You’re half angel.”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan ground out through gritted teeth, resisting the urge to kick Anakin somewhere sensitive.

Of all the reactions he’d faced so far, Obi-Wan wasn’t sure whether he liked this one the most or the least because Rex burst out in deep, full-bodied guffaws. Somewhere in the laughter Obi-Wan thought he heard the words ‘only you, General’, but he couldn’t be sure, and later on Rex pled plausible deniability.

Obi-Wan crossed his arms over his chest, a smile tugging at his own lips.

Rex sobered again. “I feel it is my duty to point out, General Kenobi, that this is the kind of thing the officers directly under your command should know.”

“I didn’t exactly go around telling anyone, Captain,” Obi-Wan said, expecting that to be the end of it, but Rex didn’t back down.

“It’s crucial information about your capabilities that could’ve saved troopers’ lives. Sir.”

Unexpectedly, it was Anakin who tried to smooth over the situation. “ _I_ didn’t know Rex, not until a short while ago, and I was his Padawan for _ten years_.”

Rex turned dark eyes to him. “When did you find out?”

Anakin’s lip twitched up. “Remember the Rako Hardeen affair? I was a bit distracted and took a tumble off a cliff – Obi-Wan jumped after me, or I would’ve had a rather terminal reunion with the ground.”

“You never did take the easy way,” Obi-Wan snorted.

Rex, on the other hand, wasn’t so easily distracted. Anakin had calmed his temper somewhat, but he still had that ‘why did I get stuck with you two idiots as my commanding officers’ look just with more glower than usual. “You still should’ve told us, General Kenobi.”

Obi-Wan sighed, dragging a hand through his already slightly mussed hair. “I wasn’t exactly in the right place to tell anyone about it, Captain. I’m not in the habit of keeping secrets from Anakin, or for that matter, you.”

Rex looked slightly mollified, though at the expense of a glint of curiosity in his eyes – curiosity that Obi-Wan had no intention of indulging at the moment. He coughed lightly. “My lying, scheming person aside, have you heard the news, Rex?”

Rex’s posture straightened, all business again. “About the Supreme Chancellor, sir? They haven’t told us much, though I’m not exactly surprised that _you_ two were involved.”

“We killed him,” Anakin said bluntly, staring Obi-Wan down when he moved to object. “He took Padmé and Obi-Wan hostage to get to me. Obi-Wan nearly died. I cut off the barve’s head and I don’t regret it.”

His expression was dark, a flicker of grief painted over by pain and betrayal, and Obi-Wan shifted a little closer to him, silently offering comfort.

Rex’s dark eyes were flitting between the two of them, and he nodded. “I understand, Generals. He may have been our supreme commander, but I speak for many of my brothers when I say that you have more than earned our loyalty.” He paused meaningfully. “Hidden ancestry or not.”

Obi-Wan was caught between a wince at the pointed addition, and being warmed all over again. After a moment, he settled on the latter, fully recognising that it was Rex’s way of extending an olive branch. Once hurts became gently barbed jokes, everything would be all right. “Thank you, Rex.”

When Rex saluted the both of them, it was more out of respect than formality.

*

For once Obi-Wan was glad to be in the Halls of Healing and under the scrutiny of no less than three Jedi Healers _and_ his former Padawan.

“Now, Obi-Wan,” Bant said, eyes focused intently on his bare back, “try hiding your wings.”

All right, so maybe he was only 95 percent glad about the situation; he really could do without all the staring, but had accepted that this was a rather necessary part of the procedure. However much he wanted to do this alone, in private, he was aware that absolutely no one else would spring for that option.

He concentrated, felt for the switch in his mind – and halted in surprise. At first questing touch it seemed to have disappeared entirely. Some straining later, he finally did feel the familiar sensation of wings melting back into his skin, but it felt different somehow. It was almost like the default composition of his body had been changed, as if the delicate balance between his heritages had tilted in favour of his Diathim blood. A quick glance behind him fortunately showed that he could indeed still change back and the glow had finally faded from his features, returning them to their normal human configuration, but the process had been harder than ever before.

He was so wrapped up in his worries that it took him a moment to notice the storm of hushed whispers behind him.

 _/Anakin,/_ he prodded silently, a sinking feeling making itself known in his gut, _/what’s wrong?/_

Anakin didn’t question his sudden use of the bond, but there was definite hesitation in his reply, and his concern was leaking through his shields. _/It’s the markings, Obi-Wan. They kind of… sank into your skin from your wings?/_

“ _What_?” Obi-Wan said aloud, and without waiting for permission slid of the examination table. He reached the small adjoining fresher cubicle before the healers could gather steam in their shouting at him to _sit down now!_ and turned his bare back towards the mirror.

The exact same patterns that had been burned into his wings now adorned his back, shifting with each movement of muscle and bone.

 This couldn’t be good.

Several hours of supposedly medically minded poking and prodding followed, without results. In the end the healers cleared him out of sheer frustration – they just couldn’t find anything physically wrong with him, despite the strange markings. Mental scans, too, turned up nothing.

Obi-Wan mostly pretended not to notice the worried looks Anakin and Bant especially kept shooting him anyway.

*

They’d landed at Theed in Padmé’s sleek Nubian Cruiser, and she’d insisted they take a walk through the city first before making their way to the Lake Country house Padmé and Anakin had stayed in before, courtesy of Queen Apailana.

Padmé had said that she wanted to see how the city was doing after the war. Obi-Wan secretly suspected that she just wanted to enjoy her newfound freedom of movement as much as possible, instead of retreating to a remote location with all due haste.

As they exited the cruiser, Obi-Wan shared a look with Anakin; both of them were thinking the same  thing: Padmé might be optimistic about the current threat level, but they would remain alert nonetheless. Too often had a false sense of security precipitated disaster before.

Theed, Obi-Wan thought quietly to himself as they made their way through wide avenues planted with streets, was beautiful as ever. Most of the times he’d been here, the air had been fraught with tension, but he dearly hoped that this would prove to be the vacation they desperately needed.

He smiled at Captain Typho’s discontented grumbling behind him. The smile slipped off his face when the back of his neck tingled slightly, the Force pinging his senses in a _pay attention_ sort of way.

A quick glance at Anakin proved that his partner had also felt something and was looking at Obi-Wan with a raised eyebrow that clearly said _so what’s the plan_? Obi-Wan jerked his head in Padmé’s direction, and though Anakin scowled a bit he nodded. All this had taken place without either Padmé or Typho noticing.

They turned a corner, and while Anakin continued along with Padmé and Typho, Obi-Wan jumped to the top of the wall on their left, crouching to make himself less conspicuous. For about a minute nothing happened, then a shadow detached from a wall farther back on the street, hurrying after their party.

The man looked up just as Obi-Wan descended upon him from above, unignited lightsaber coming to rest near their stalker’s ribs.

Quinlan Vos grinned ruefully. “Damn, I owe Mace and Tholme credits now.”

Obi-Wan raised a brow, letting go of Quinlan’s neck and returning his lightsaber to his belt.

Quinlan didn’t even have the grace to look sheepish or repentant in the slightest. “Mace bet me I wouldn’t make it a day without being discovered. Tholme said I wouldn’t last two hours after planetfall.”

“A few years ago you would’ve been right,” Obi-Wan said quietly, a darkness passing over his face. “The war has made us all wary.”

Realizing that Quinlan was gazing at him with some concern, he shook himself out of his musings and attempted a smile. “I’ll have to have a word with Mace about his lack of faith in our abilities. I assume the Council sent you?”

“Yep. Haven’t run a protection detail in a while, but I’m sure it will be exciting enough with you three around.”

“I hope not,” Obi-Wan sighed, but his expression clearly conveyed his lack of conviction. “I have to go catch up with Anakin before he gets worried and starts tearing Theed apart to find me.”

Quinlan half turned away, then hesitated. “My mission was _supposed_ to be a secret.”

“Quin, I am going to tell Anakin and Padmé,” Obi-Wan said immediately, eyebrows drawing together warningly. “Anything else is inviting disaster. I’ve learned _that_ much.”

Quinlan put up his hands in the universal _no harm intended_ sign. “Fine, but keep it quiet otherwise, yes?”

“I _have_ been on undercover missions myself, Knight Vos,” Obi-Wan reminded him somewhat pointedly, and then bit back a sigh when Quinlan only gave him a shit-eating grin in response and promptly disappeared down the alley. Quinlan had never been one for polite conversation – or goodbyes.

By the time Obi-Wan caught up with the rest of the group, Anakin looked to be strung unbearably tight, but most of the tension left his frame when he caught sight of Obi-Wan approaching.

“False alarm,” Obi-Wan said.

Anakin regarded him with narrow eyes, then asked with somewhat more insight than usual, “Who did they send?”

“Quinlan Vos.”

“You like Knight Vos, don’t you?”

Obi-Wan frowned a little. “Let me see. Whenever he’s around lots of things explode and I end up having to run for my life.”

Anakin looked like he was mentally running down the list of his recent missions with Obi-Wan and found all boxes ticked. He grinned.

“Ah, you must like him then.”

His smug face clearly said _after all you like me and I’m as much of a disaster_. Obi-Wan pulled the face that Anakin’d once described as his ‘Force help me my life is a mess’-face.

Anakin clapped a hand on his shoulder, still grinning. “Don’t worry about it, Master. You’re as crazy as the rest of us. I think Mace and Yoda have a betting pool going as to which of us is going to come up with the most insane mission plan.” Impossibly his grin grew even wider. “I told them they should bet on you, considering your track record.”

That just made Obi-Wan grumpier. Was everyone in the Temple betting on him in some way or another? Standards really were slipping. Qui-Gon at least had had the manners to be discrete about it whenever he indulged in a little wager.

Obi-Wan sniffed haughtily. “Most of the time that’s just _you_ getting into trouble and me having to do some… creative thinking to get you out of it again.”

“Keep telling yourself that. I’m not the one who decided that it would be a genius idea to distract Grievous by letting my ship get captured because he’s personally invested in killing me.”

With wisdom born from experience, Obi-Wan realized the futility of his efforts and performed a conversational retreat.

“The Jedi Order’s general betting habits aside, I _am_ worried that the Council felt it necessary to send a Shadow after us.”

Anakin shrugged. “It’s _us_ , of course they’re paranoid.”

“That doesn’t actually make me feel better, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said dryly.

Someone sighed behind them, and they turned in unison.

“If you two are quite finished?” Padmé said, expression less annoyed than her tone might suggest, but certainly somewhere along on the spectrum of long-suffering.

Jedi didn’t exchange sheepish looks, as a rule – the handbook would probably say ‘maintain dignity at all times’ – but Obi-Wan and Anakin came close.

*

Obi-Wan looked up to study the house at whose pier they’d just alighted, feeling a sense of contentment envelop him at the sheer glow of life emanating from their surroundings. Compared to Coruscant and its mighty durasteel structures, the lake-country in Naboo teemed with organic life.

“As beautiful as I remember,” Anakin murmured beside him, despite– or perhaps because of – the fact that he’d spent most of the ride staring at Padmé rather than the surrounding abundance of nature.

Obi-Wan stifled a groan. When agreeing to this trip with the two lovebirds he’d mostly been thinking about safety and a chance to relax – it hadn’t occurred to him that he’d have to suffer through Anakin and Padmé dripping romance all over each other, and him by proximity, the entire time.

Anakin remained blissfully oblivious to his former Master’s grumpiness in the face of Anakin’s soppy tendencies, but Padmé at least deigned to send him a vaguely apologetic look. It was only slightly tinged with amusement as she took Anakin’s hand to climb out of the speeder boat.

Obi-Wan took his time exiting the vehicle, double-checking that the fastenings to the dock were secure to give the two of them some time to go ahead. They had spent the entire journey from Coruscant in rather close quarters after all and Obi-Wan was given to belief that that might lead to some repressed urges being acted upon once the opportunity presented itself. Surely it wasn’t enough to hope that the universe would take pity on him and let that opportunity arise when Obi-Wan _wasn’t_ around?

He threw another glance at the house, delicately erecting a few additional shields around his bond with Anakin. Perhaps it was time for a walk around the estate – after all, it wasn’t brooding if he was admiring the scenery.

An hour later Obi-Wan had circled back to the house and, reluctant to leave the peaceful outside just yet, was leaning against the balustrade looking out towards the lake and its single lush island.

Even if he could’ve failed to notice Anakin’s arrival in the space next to him, the company wasn’t unexpected.

The thoughtfulness radiating from Anakin’s Force signature was enough to send alarm bells ringing. Obi-Wan always regarded the moments when Anakin put his ‘insightful hat’ on with a mixture of ruefulness and annoyance – the latter mostly because Anakin chose to do so at the most inconvenient times, and invariably when Obi-Wan did _not want to talk about it_.

 “Perhaps you should find someone and settle down,” Anakin suggested quietly. He wasn’t looking at Obi-Wan, gaze trained on the faraway island with deliberate casualness.

Obi-Wan only just managed not to splutter – even Anakin usually employed more subtlety than _this_.

 “If the Council can make an exception for me because I killed the Sith Lord, surely they would have to for you as well,” Anakin went on. “And Yoda likes you, anyway.”

Assaulted by the sudden urge to pinch the bridge of his nose, Obi-Wan sighed. “The Council didn’t make an exception for you because you killed the Sith Lord, Anakin. They created a precedent that not even the staunchest supporter of tradition could argue against. You proved that even when Padmé was in considerable danger it didn’t distract you enough to stop you from doing your duty, despite your reputation of listening to your feelings more than most deem wise.”

Anakin looked to the ground, shoulder suddenly tense. “I did still shoot you.”

“Because I told you to do so, Anakin,” Obi-Wan reminded him gently. He truly felt no anger at Anakin, nor did he blame him for what he did. “And she is a civilian anyway.”

Anakin must’ve caught some of those thoughts, for he shook his head and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like ‘only you, Master’. While Obi-Wan doubted that his friend would ever stop feeling guilty about what he’d done, that seemed like progress and he was content to believe that most of these emotions would sort themselves out with time.

“Some on the Council have been discussing loosening the non-attachment rules for a while now. War can be… surprising in how it opens one’s eyes. You just gave them a chance to bring the matter to the attention of a greater number of Jedi.”

Anakin waved this aside. “I don’t care about the politics, Obi-Wan. I just mean you should consider it. I’ve never been as happy as when I’m with Padmé.”

“I know,” Obi-Wan said, with no small amount of sadness. “You were never one to be satisfied by the life of a Jedi only.”

Anakin flinched, his hand reaching out to his former Master reflexively before falling to his side. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I know,” Obi-Wan repeated, with a true smile despite the sadness lingering at the corners. “I’ve learned to accept that, Anakin.”

Silence fell for a moment, in which Anakin, if consciously or not, shifted a little closer to Obi-Wan until their arms were almost touching on the balustrade. It didn’t last long.

“So how about it?” Anakin asked and now Obi-Wan did have to grin at his former Padawan’s inability to let the matter go.

“Not really my area, Anakin,” he said gently, and perhaps not entirely without regret.

*

Dinner turned out to be a somewhat strained affair, not because of the company but rather the topic of conversation.

“After some digging, the intelligence bureau isn’t even certain he _is_ from Naboo,” Padmé said grimly, stabbing an innocent piece of fruit with rather more force than necessary. “They could find no trace of him in any of our systems beyond twenty years ago, when he first entered our political arena.”

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. His own meal lay largely untouched. “You’re well informed.”

“I’m the Senator from Naboo, Obi-Wan, and someone associated with my homeworld has just been revealed as a Sith Lord,” she pointed out, giving him a wry look. “Of course I’ve been kept informed.

Obi-Wan acknowledged her point with a nod. He stroked his beard absent-mindedly. “Did they find any other trace of him? Some piece of property maybe?”

She shook her head. “Nothing. But the search is still ongoing.”

Anakin, who’d stayed uncharacteristically quiet so far, also only pushing around his food without actually eating anything, spoke up, his face pinched. “They won’t. He was always very… thorough.”

Obi-Wan and Padmé traded an unhappy look. Both of them were concerned about how Anakin dealt with the fact that one of his most trusted friends had betrayed him so thoroughly, had never really _been_ his friend in the first place – or rather his lack of dealing with the situation.

Neither of them could look without grief at the shattered expression that still entered Anakin’s eyes when Palpatine was mentioned or he thought no one was looking.

Obi-Wan gently cleared his throat, wordlessly offering Anakin warmth and compassion through the bond. Long used to his Master’s motherhenning ways, Anakin didn’t show surprise, but his features lightened a bit, and when Padmé leaned her head on his shoulder he began to relax again.

“With our track record,” Obi-Wan said with quiet humour, “if Palpatine has left anything behind on Naboo we’ll probably find it.”

Anakin looked physically pained at the thought. “Don’t say that, Master. Whenever you say something like that we end up in even deeper podoo than usual.”

Obi-Wan considered that for a moment, then came to the conclusion that, in this instance, Anakin was quite correct, despite the obvious logical fallacy that it weren’t his statements that caused trouble to find them – trouble managed just fine without assistance.

*

The next morning, Anakin had somehow got it into his head to start the day with a spar. Blinking the bleariness out of his eyes, Obi-Wan pulled a tunic over his head as Anakin hovered impatiently in the doorway.

“What’s got into you?” Obi-Wan demanded, hastening out the door as he tried to keep up with Anakin’s longer legs. “You never used to get up this early for anything, not even sparring.”

Anakin only shrugged his broad shoulders. “We’ve all got new habits. Besides it’s been so long since we were able to spar just for the joy of it.”

There was something wistful about Anakin’s voice that brought any other protest up short. Anakin was right after all – saber-play just for fun had long been buried beneath the grim reality of a war that only constant training enabled one to survive.

“Very well.” They’d reached the outside lawn, lush and even. Perfect for a little match. Obi-Wan smiled. “Are you ready for getting your ass kicked, Knight Skywalker?”

“In your dreams, Master Kenobi,” Anakin returned, a fierce smile of his own lighting his face.

This, too, was familiar.

Unsurprisingly, it was Anakin who attacked first, clearly having decided that warm-ups weren’t something he or Obi-Wan needed – a somewhat rude assumption, if not entirely inaccurate. Long used to this kind of behaviour, Obi-Wan matched his former Padawan step for step.

“Now that we’re appropriately warmed up,” Anakin half-panted fifteen minutes later, “Let’s have a match with your wings out.”

Obi-Wan almost scowled as he regarded his friend with a raised eyebrow. So _that_ was why Anakin had been so keen on sparring.

He crossed his arms in front of his chest, heedless of the slight stickiness of the tunics on his skin. “Why?”

“Come on, Obi-Wan, it’s a part of you! What if you’re attacked while in your winged form and you don’t have the time and concentration to switch back? Or you get stuck like you were the last few weeks, anything could’ve happened and you’d have had to fight with them.”

As much as Obi-Wan hated to admit it, those were all valid points. The last time he’d truly trained with his wings as aid had been when he’d still been a Padawan – one who’d just realized that his heritage wasn’t quite as straightforward as previously believed – and Qui-Gon had urged him to incorporate his whole being in his learning.

If asked, he’d probably say that he’d neglected that side of himself because it wasn’t necessary to do otherwise. He functioned perfectly fine as a human, with something of an emergency red button he could press when entirely out of ideas. In truth, his reluctance stemmed from other factors; as a Jedi, Obi-Wan was used to having complete control of his body, and to think that he’d never known he wasn’t even fully human filled him with a dread he liked to bury instead of examining. As a man, he liked to fade into the background, become one with the hum of the Force all around and he simply could not do that when sporting huge wings of pure Force light.

In the end, it had been easier to simply ignore the issue. Flying, after all, had always been effortless.

“Fine,” he conceded, as graciously as he could. He drew a deep breath, let it out, and changed.

Though the faint light he now radiated, he could just make out a strange expression passing over Anakin’s face, something almost reverent. He pushed the observation aside.

Obi-Wan ignited his lightsaber, blue light mingling with gold, and waited for Anakin’s attack.

The first two minutes went – poorly. While the wings had no noticeable weight of their own, the way they caught the air, fluttering with every movement, affected Obi-Wan’s balance. Anakin, tactful for once, didn’t comment and made sure to pull his blows whenever his partner swayed in an unintended direction.

By minute five, his body was slowly starting to remember. Echoes of muscle memory from when Qui-Gon had drilled him and drilled him and drilled him despite his protests were beginning to coordinate with years of different conditioning. Wings fluttered and stretched in tandem with his movements, allowing him slightly larger leaps and counterbalancing twists. Qui-Gon had encouraged him to fly, truly fly at least once a week, citing something vague about how the living Force flowed through him freer when he did, and in truth Obi-Wan had enjoyed it then, whenever he could find space away from prying eyes. For now, however, on this field on Naboo with Anakin watching, he kept himself grounded still as he concentrated on forming his blade into an extension of his body.

The blows they exchanged became smoother.

Falling into familiar Ataru combinations, Obi-Wan jumped into the air, intending to fall upon Anakin from above when a sudden gust of wind caught the underside of his wings, sending him soaring higher up into the sky. Abruptly, the fight against letting himself run free was lost and his lightsaber powered down with a flick of a thought as he climbed into the azure above.

Obi-Wan couldn’t remember the last time he’d let himself be free, had forgotten what it felt like to have the wind rushing over his face and the air catching beneath his wings, what the world looked like from above, what it felt like to _soar_. Effortlessly, as he’d been born to do.

Below, Anakin shrank to a dark dot surrounded by green, and Obi-Wan let go of all sense of time.

He flew until his muscles complained, tasked in ways they hadn’t been for a long time, and he reluctantly circled back around to the Lakehouse.

Tucking his wings close to his body, Obi-Wan dived towards the ground, and just before impact, great wings spread wide, letting him settle gently onto the ground.

He’d landed, hair a ruffled mess on his head, cheeks rosy from the cold as their glow faded a little into a more human countenance, to an entirely unexpected view. Anakin looked to be _meditating_. It wasn’t that his friend never did so, but rarely without prodding and even rarer spontaneously. Perhaps even more striking, he looked to be at _peace_.

The reason why Anakin had never liked meditation, as he’d finally confessed after many a fruitless session that had left Obi-Wan at wits end, was that it was rarely peaceful for him, but overwhelming instead. At the time Obi-Wan could’ve kicked himself for not realising it sooner – for someone of Anakin’s strength in the Force, to open themselves so entirely to its flow was not only terrifying to a boy unaccustomed to such things but also potentially dangerous. It was easy to lose oneself in the Force’s embrace if it was given free reign. He’d altered the way he’d taught Anakin then, focusing on more physically grounded meditations that incorporated weapon dances and surroundings until Anakin had become sure enough in his grasp of himself in the Force to return to the typical motionless deep meditation. Still, Anakin had never quite found a liking for it after that.

Anakin’s eyes opened, as blue as the sky above them, and there was a calm in them that Obi-Wan could not remember ever seeing before.

“The Force danced around you,” Anakin said and Obi-Wan’s eyebrows threatened to climb into his hairline at the other’s dreamy tone. “I’ve never seen you glitter so much, Master.”

With a thought Obi-Wan’s wings disappeared, leaving him feeling both slightly bereft and relieved to be back in his usual body. There was something… crystal about the world when he was flying, but he was paradoxically more content when everything shrunk back to its proper size and clarity. He wasn’t too keen on losing himself in flights of fancy.

“I do not _glitter_ ,” he finally marshalled somewhat lamely.

Anakin’s gaze seared through him, then in the next moment faded to only his usual intensity. He shrugged, hands still lax on his knees. “It’s the best way I can describe it. I didn’t think you’d appreciate me talking about the Force giggling around you either.”

Obi-Wan blinked. Giggling? The Force did not _giggle_.

Judging by Anakin’s wry smile, he was well aware of Obi-Wan’s thoughts process.

“It felt good, didn’t it?”

The openness in the younger man’s face belied the undercurrent of ‘I told you so’ that could so easily have coloured the question – instead Obi-Wan only found honest gladness  all but radiating towards him. Anakin, despite what someone less familiar with his character might think, always knew when things were too important for smugness.

He couldn’t dissemble, in the face of that. “Yes,” he said quietly, face raised upwards to the sky, “yes, it felt good.”

*

He found Quinlan leaning against the wall at the lakeside.

“What have you been up to?” he asked, joining him.

Quinlan raised an eyebrow, keeping his gaze locked onto the gently lapping waves of water in front of his feet.

“Reconnaissance. We can’t all spent our time frolicking in the air like a displaying Goffbird.”

Obi-Wan refused to blush. “I was not… _displaying_ anything.”

“Oh, Anakin certainly seemed impressed,” Quinlan went on blithely, his smirk as wicked as his tongue.

Obi-Wan paused, any tolerance of Quinlan’s teasing evaporating. “That’s unkind, Quin.”

Honest surprise glinted in the other’s gaze when he turned to meet Obi-Wan’s gaze. “I didn’t mean to offend.”

Obi-Wan sighed. “Anakin is married and very much devoted to his wife. You can’t just say things like that.”

“Obi-Wan,” Quinlan started with uncharacteristic hesitation and an expression on his face that very clearly conveyed his wish to never have gone down this particular conversational route, “far be it from me to tell you how to ruin your life, but perhaps you should talk to him about this? I’ve seen the way he looks at you, and from what I’ve observed, the Senator isn’t exactly opposed either.”

Obi-Wan stared at him. The mental hiccup when Quinlan had first brought up Anakin being impressed had expanded into catastrophic system failure. The words just wouldn’t register beyond the overwhelming feeling of _that can’t be right_.

“Anakin wouldn’t think of me that way,” he said firmly, mental walls piled high.

The other Jedi studied him for a moment, a sceptical wrinkle marring his brow. His gloved hand ran over the rough stone balustrade, absent-minded motion in his hands that told of long habit.

“If that’s want you want to believe, Obi-Wan,” Quinlan finally murmured, and took his leave.

Obi-Wan stayed behind, confused and muddled, wondering whether there would ever be a time when the universe stopped playing games with him.

*

Obi-Wan woke abruptly for the third time in as many days, staring up at the curved ceiling above. The slight tugging sensation on his back had returned, insistent for all that it wasn’t any more noticeable than a fly taking off from exposed skin. It wasn’t the physical aspect that drove Obi-Wan to distraction, but his ignorance in the matter. He didn’t know why this was happening, or really what it was, or where the pull wished to lead him, and he was _sick_ _of it_.

Snatching his lightsaber from the bedside table where it lay in easy reach, Obi-Wan pulled on his tunics and headed towards the speeder-bay he’d spotted on his first walk around the house.

The tugging sensation on his wings led him as surely as a navcomp, even as he wound his way deeper and deeper into the lake country. Clearly Padmé wasn’t the only one with private retreats out here – he’d already passed three mansions by the time he was led onto a peninsula towards the stately house that perched on a rocky outcrop over the surrounding lake. The pull was so insistent now that Obi-Wan wasn’t sure he could turn back even if he wanted to.

The house appeared deserted both to his eyes and to his senses. Nothing stopped him from walking right up to the front door, not even an automated alarm. For a moment Obi-Wan considered the old-fashioned doorbell hanging from the arch above the door, then he shrugged to himself and took out his lightsaber. He took some care not to cut through the sigils hewn into the arch – they gave off a kind of stink in the Force and he would prefer not to get too close.

It took him a moment to orient himself in the dimly lit hallway, hung with strange portraits that captured faces contorted in agony. Obi-Wan shivered despite himself.

“Are you making a career of breaking and entering now?” Quinlan Vos asked, leaning casually against the wall where Obi-Wan had just cut through, unbothered by the molten flakes of durasteel swirling through the air around him..

If Obi-Wan hadn’t already been aware of his silent shadow, the other Jedi might’ve found himself tossed through a wall, but he knew how seriously Quinlan took his duties.

“Well, I asked nicely, but the door seemed disinclined to negotiate,” Obi-Wan quipped. “Besides, if I’m right about the identity of the owner of this house, I _really_ don’t care.”

There was little doubt in his mind that he was right – the entire house felt steeped into the dark side, a roiling, sickening mass assaulting his Force sense from all sides.

Quinlan’s answering smile was grim. “Fair point.”

One of the Kiffar’s hands was resting on his lightsaber hilt, barely restrained tension flexing in his arm. After years of being acquainted with Anakin, it felt comforting to have someone trigger-happy guarding his back as they moved deeper into the house.

They passed more doorways, many of them inscribed in strange angular runes, and suddenly Obi-Wan had the very uncomfortable feeling that something was _moving_ on his back. He stopped, barely resisting the urge to scratch and unwilling to walk further into this situation without knowing what the hell was happening to him.

“Obi-Wan?” Quinlan asked, halting behind him. His gaze had turned piercing, studying Obi-Wan’s tense posture with narrowed eyes.

“I’m not sure, Quin. Something isn’t ri – ”

He broke off as sudden pain flared on his back, fire burning in swirls across his skin. With a small gasp, he caught himself on the wall before he could slide to the floor. It was instinct that made him change, a primal conviction that it would stop the pain, and wings burst forth from his back.

The pain stopped.

Obi-Wan leaned against the wall for a moment more, panting and heedless of Quinlan’s swearing behind him. There should’ve been relief, but that crawling sensation of movement was _still_ _there_ , only transferred to his wings from his skin.

“ – fucking hell, Obi-Wan, warn me before you materialize those things right in my face next time,” Quinlan was still swearing, and then suddenly there was a moment of silence before he went on, “Holy Force those things are _moving_.”

Obi-Wan clenched his eyes closed. So he wasn’t imagining it then.

“May I?” Quinlan asked quietly, fingertips hovering over Obi-Wan’s left wing. For Kiffar, the act of touching someone was far more significant, and in many ways more intimate than for most races. There was no telling what his psychometry would see when making contact with the wing.

Obi-Wan took a deep breath. “Go ahead.”

The moment Quinlan laid a finger over one of the black marks, he went rigid, face scrunching up in discomfort. Then he moved his hand to an unblemished part of the wing and his expression relaxed again.

“The markings react to the dark side,” he said, pulling his hand away. “I can’t sense anything the like on the rest of your wings.” A flash of something uncomfortably close to awe raced across his face, quickly hidden. Quinlan Vos was not a person to be in awe of anything for long or anything less than grudgingly – he’d used to infuriate Obi-Wan with his disregard for authority and the Council when they were young, and Obi-Wan still a bit more naïve about the collective wisdom of Jedi Masters. “They’re pure Force light.”

It felt like ice being poured into his gut and around his heart, like the cold floor of a melting pit. That anything on his body, _of_ his body was so intimately connected to the dark was equally chilling and terrifying, and even reaching for the light that the Force brought him did little to ease that shadow.

What if it affected him, like slow poison seeping into the being, insidious enough that he didn’t notice until it was too late and there was no going back?

Now Obi-Wan was the first to admit that he tended towards the pessimistic side of things – though he preferred to think of it as realistic, considering his dire predictions usually turned out correct – but anything that could potentially compromise his allegiance to the light… it didn’t bear thinking about.

When he looked up, there was a terrible kind of sympathy in Quinlan’s eyes

Obi-wan averted his eyes, voice only a little rough when he said, “Let’s go see if there’s anything here before we alert the Naboo security forces.”

Quinlan gazed at him for a moment longer, as if evaluating whether Obi-Wan was likely to have a nervous breakdown sometime in the next few minutes, then nodded.

They searched for two hours, every hidden door and crevice they could find – and there were many, most of which only Quinlan’s unique talents laid bare – without results. Save for the fact that no normal residence had this many concealed rooms, the house seemed entirely normal. They could _feel_ the darkside all around them, permeating everything, and yet there were no artefacts, no suspicious furniture, no weapon arsenal, nothing.

Next to him Quinlan huffed, glaring at a sofa in a particularly horrific shade of purple. “This is a waste of time. We should alert the Naboo so they can fence off the area.”

Obi-Wan nodded wearily. He was still unsettled by what he’d learned, his wings twitching ever so often in worry. One try at retracting them had been enough to convince him – and a frantic Quinlan – that that probably wasn’t the smartest idea for the moment.

He followed Quinlan to their makeshift entrance. The sun peaked through the ragged edges of the impromptu door, gleaming in Quinlan’s dark hair as he stepped through.

Obi-Wan moved to follow, then –

Darkness.

***

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thanks to norcumi for betaing, and norcumi and dogmatix for writing the wonderful fic this is based on.

PART II

 

***

Anakin woke to a bad feeling. This wasn’t entirely surprising, though it was more often Obi-Wan who was haunted by immediate premonitions. It was still unsettling enough that he indulged himself with a mental sweep of the area for threats. He found none save for Padmé, still sleeping next to him, and Typhoo and two of the handmaidens in a different part of the house.

The lack of Obi-Wan’s presence anywhere near might as well have been a blinking neon sign in the darkness, proclaiming ‘WE HAVE A PROBLEM’ in cheerfully flashing yellow. Knowing his former Master, if there was trouble he was very likely either the cause or at least smackdab in the middle of it. No matter what Obi-Wan liked to claim, for every one time that Anakin got them into a sticky situation, Obi-Wan got them into trouble twice. The man was a trouble-magnet of the highest calibre.

At least it wasn’t another nightmare about Obi-Wan dying at his hand that woke him. Anakin’d had enough of those already to last him a lifetime.

Uneasiness spiking, Anakin heaved himself out of bed as quietly as he could manage as to not disturb Padmé and padded to the veranda.

Whatever he was expecting, it wasn’t to spot Quinlan Vos ascending the steps to the house, carrying Obi-Wan’s limp form across his broad shoulders. One Force-assisted leap brought his bare feet to settle down on the grass in front of the two Jedi, and only Obi-Wan’s faint presence in the Force stopped the immediate panic from snowballing into desperation.

The tips of Obi-Wan’s wings – and still Anakin’s breath stuttered in his chest for a fraction of a second whenever he looked at them, especially beautiful now in the dawn light – brushed the ground with every step Quinlan took. The black swirls on glowing feathers looked strangely smudged, as if something had torn at them. Anakin pulled his gaze away and focused on Quinlan.

“What happened?” he demanded, a hand automatically reaching out for Obi-Wan’s neck to feel for a pulse.

Quinlan didn’t comment on the action, though surely he’d already established that Obi-Wan was as well as he could be.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, his facial markings pulling together as he frowned in worry. “We were investigating one of Palpatine’s houses, or well, at least we think it was, and he simply collapsed when we tried to leave the place.” He nodded towards the wings. “Those markings reacted weirdly to the lingering dark side, they were moving and hurting him somehow, but he seemed fine once he’d materialized his wings.” Quinlan frowned as he recalled the memory. “Actually, when we passed under the arch for a moment I thought the wings were straining _towards_ the sigils in the stone if that makes any sense.”

That sounded… ominous, and why in all the Corellian Hells had Obi-Wan been investigating a Sith’s lair without Anakin? Without even _telling_ him?

Correctly interpreting Anakin’s silence, Quinlan went on, “I don’t think it was a planned trip.”

That wasn’t actually reassuring – Obi-Wan always preferred going into situations with a plan, never mind that it would be shot to hell within minutes leading to forced improvisation that his former Master loved to grumble about anyway.

“I’ll get him into the house,” Anakin said, and Quinlan surrendered his burden without protest.

The other Jedi looked a little bereft, with his hands empty and worry unalleviated. “I’ll check the perimeter for threats. And someone will need to inform the Naboo of our find.”

Coiled energy roiled below his placid surface. They both knew that he was unlikely to find anything, but Anakin nodded nevertheless. He could understand the urge to do something, _anything_ to help.

*

Force wings could be kriffing inconvenient, Anakin concluded, finally having arranged Obi-Wan on his bed in a way that neither crushed his wings nor constricted his breathing. Stretched out on his front, most of his body obscured behind glowing feathers, his former Master looked like he was merely sleeping, lax face turned slightly to the side. His hair moved slightly with every gentle exhale.

 _If only_.

For a moment the urge to reach out and touch those wings, feel their texture beneath his fingertips, have that glow envelop a part of _him_ almost grew too great, but though his hand stretched out it was withdrawn before it could make contact. Moving Obi-Wan when he was unconscious was one thing – and more often a necessity than one might expect from a fully trained Jedi Master – touching him without helping intent when he could not give his consent was entirely another and Anakin wasn’t going to leap across that boundary while Obi-Wan was in a Force-induced coma.

When Obi-Wan had first revealed his true nature to Anakin in the wake of that kriffing disaster that Ahsoka had termed the Rako Hardeen clusterfuck, Anakin’s immediate reaction had been _holy shit Obi-Wan is literally an angel_. No matter how objective he’d tried to be, re-evaluating Obi-Wan’s combat abilities analysing past behaviour in light of his heritage etc. etc. bla bla bla, his thoughts had always cycled back to that one realization. Now, months later, he looked at Obi-Wan and a physical tightness in his chest accompanied the thought _angel_. Sometimes he wondered if all this wasn’t just some crazy dream, but then he remembered the way Obi-Wan embodied both the gentle and the fierce, the way his changeable eyes were always kind, the way he sat and told stories to inquisitive younglings, and thought that perhaps this wasn’t such a change after all. Oh, his former Master wasn’t perfect, not by a long shot – not with his occasionally overflowing temper and a sardonic streak that could border on mean – but there had always been something to his presence, to _him_ , that set him apart.

Anakin shifted back to his feet as Padmé entered the room, her mere presence a comfort.

“Will he be all right?” she asked quietly, gaze trained on the bed.

Anakin’s lips were pressed into a tight line. “I don’t know. I don’t even know what caused this.”

Padmé exhaled, shoulders falling. “Can you – wake him up?”

Anakin shrugged, helplessness in motion. “I can _try_. It’s just… I’m not exactly trained for this, you know?”

“That’s never stopped you before,” Padmé pointed out, her lips a small curl of amusement.

“Yeah, well, this is different. This is _Obi-Wan_.”

To anyone else it might’ve not made sense, but Padmé only nodded in complete understanding and her hand stroked circles in his tense shoulders.

“That’s why you have to try, _because_ it’s Obi-Wan.”

Anakin nodded, and just for a moment leaned into her touch before kneeling down beside the bed.

Taking a deep breath, Anakin laid his palms on both sides of Obi-Wan’s face and _stretched_. This contact between minds wasn’t easy to explain to non Force-sensitives, though he’d tried once with Padmé – who wasn’t even non-sensitive, just untrained. A part of his consciousness always rested with Obi-Wan through their bond, or was at least aware of him.

When the time had come to sever their training bond at his knighting, neither he nor Obi-Wan – to his secret delight – had been too fond of the idea of letting go of that closeness, and had chosen to keep the bond as quite a few of working pairs did. However much Obi-Wan liked to claim he followed every Jedi tenet to the letter, Anakin knew better. Though his former Master didn’t generally let on to it, he had a bleeding heart and felt as deeply as Anakin did, if in a completely different way. Where Anakin was fire and passion, a whirlwind of emotion, Obi-Wan was water flowing deeply, at times tumultuous, at times as calm as could be, but always with complete commitment to his course, manifested in his unflinching, unwavering loyalty. To the Jedi Order, to the Republic, to duty… but also to Anakin, to Qui-Gon and all those he loved.

Anakin had been glad of that bond a thousand times over during the war, and doubly so now that it might be their only chance at reaching Obi-Wan, for where a warm presence should linger, there was only horrible, echoing distance.

A black shroud ripped and Anakin stood on a high precipice, merciless wind grasping his robe. He looked around and found Obi-Wan standing not far away, gazing into the surrounding darkness. There were no wings here, in Obi-Wan’s mind.

“Obi-Wan?” Anakin called, voice almost lost in the wind.

Obi-Wan didn’t turn around, didn’t acknowledge Anakin as he stepped to the older Jedi’s side beyond a shifting in his stance, minute but heartening for it was in Anakin’s direction.

“I can see them all.” Obi-Wan’s voice was as blank as his face, and it was _frightening_.

“Who?” Anakin asked, trying to keep his teeth from  chattering.

“All those who died.”

Anakin’s breath froze in his chest. Some of his horror must’ve leaked onto his face, for a glint of worry appeared in Obi-Wan’s flat grey eyes. Seeing his chance, Anakin pushed on.

“You have to come back, Obi-Wan. We’re all worried for you. I’m worried, Padmé is worried. Even Quinlan is.”

Finally there was something of the Obi-Wan he knew in his wry smile and equally wry tone as he retorted, “Quinlan wouldn’t be worried if I ran around with a half-chopped off leg, Anakin. Believe me, I’d know.”

For a moment Anakin wanted to ask about _that_ story, but then he only shrugged. “Well, he’s been stomping around the house all paranoid and moody. I call that worried.”

A brief smile lit Obi-Wan’s features, but then his darkening eyes slid past Anakin once more into the nothingness beyond and Anakin decided that he’d had enough. If Obi-Wan wasn’t in his right mind to decide to come back to them, Anakin was just going to have to take matters into his own hands. He was good at that. He was also good at split second, intuitive decision, so when a plan came to mind he didn’t question it. Wrapping his arms around Obi-Wan in what in another setting could’ve been a somewhat enthusiastic hug, he _pulled_. The world blurred around them, and throughout the darkness grasping for Obi-Wan Anakin refused to let go, until they’d breached the barrier, followed the link back to his own mind.

For a moment Obi-Wan’s mind entangled with Anakin’s in his head, closer than any warning of Jedi doctrines would allow – _one_ – then he drew away.

They opened their eyes at the same time.

*

The kitchen table had become their ‘serious talk huddle’ place, and that was where Anakin found himself dragging Obi-Wan once the older man had recovered enough to be irritable and stumble around under his own power.

“Why were you affected and not Master Vos?” Anakin asked, still unsettled by the whole thing. The feeling only grew when Obi-Wan’s eyes slid away from his.

Quinlan had made himself scarce as soon as it’d been clear that Obi-Wan would be fine and conveniently wasn’t around to answer questions.

“Padmé should be here for this,” Obi-Wan said quietly, elegant fingers worrying at the hem of his tunic.

Anakin’s worry spiked. Obi-Wan was rarely upset enough to show his tells so blatantly.

“What should I be here for?”

They both turned to the door where Padmé was leaning against the frame, looking about as tired as the both of them felt, and equally determined.

“Obi-Wan explaining what the hell happened.”

Obi-Wan pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t _know_ what happened, but Quinlan confirmed that my wings reacted to the dark side; like calling to like. As far as we can determine, the glyphs on the doorway lit up when I walked through it. They match what little writing in the Sith language we have in the archives. I’m compromised.”

Anakin’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t like where this was going one bit. “Compromised by what?”

“Don’t be wilfully obtuse, Anakin!” Now Obi-Wan actually sounded angry. “I’m telling you, I might not be safe to be around.”

But Anakin wasn’t backing down. This was _Obi-Wan_ , his Master, a man who had enough light in his body to illuminate a small moon. “Those markings react to the dark side, so what? That doesn’t make you evil or influenced or whatever you’re thinking right now. The Force surge knocked _you_ out, Obi-Wan – you didn’t hurt anyone or anything.”

“This time,” Obi-Wan bit out, face set in grim lines. “There’re bits of Sith stuck on my wings, Anakin!”

Okay, when he put it like that – ew. With a shudder, Anakin realised that while Obi-Wan sported a physical manifestation, he himself might well have remnants of Palpatine still in his mind. The thought brought a flood of revulsion that he fought to contain. Right now really wasn’t the time to bring it up, as Obi-Wan would immediately latch onto his issues and ignore his own. Again.

Padmé, who’d been witnessing their exchange in silence, shook her head.

“I don’t need to be a Jedi to know that your heart is still your own, Obi-Wan,” Padmé said quietly. “Otherwise you wouldn’t be this concerned about all of this.”

The lines on his face made Obi-Wan look years older, furrows casting his features into stark shadows. “Now, yes. But I can’t control the markings, I’ve tried. And I don’t think I’ll have any defence against them controlling me, if it’s in their power.”

“Wrong,” Anakin said quietly. “You have me. You know our bond was always one of the strongest the Jedi had seen for decades.”

For all of the Council’s complaining about their sometimes unorthodox methods and oftentimes blatant attachment to each other, it was also one of the most _stable_ bonds, or Anakin’s attempt to bring Obi-Wan back out of his coma could’ve been disastrous. It was far too easy to lose oneself in someone else’s mind, to stay connected in too intimate a way until one forgot where one person ended and another began – which was why such things were warned about in the Order.

Obi-Wan’s lips twisted. “You always did believe that was enough.”

Refusing to be hurt, knowing that Obi-Wan didn’t really mean it, Anakin volleyed right back. “And so do you, Obi-Wan, most of the time.”

Obi-Wan’s gaze seared through him with almost physical weight, then flicked to Padmé and back to Anakin again. “For all our sakes, I hope you’re right.”

*

Obi-Wan was standing on the broad terrace looking over the lake, tunics moving gently in the breeze, hands clasped behind his back.

Anakin had come in search of him to maybe not apologise, but do their usual thing of talking about something else until the storm waves had smoothed over, really he had, but when he caught sight of his former Master, his breath caught in his throat and he stopped dead.

Obi-Wan turned to look at him, the setting sun shining in his copper hair. His mouth opened to say something.

It was pure instinct that made Anakin reach out and plant a kiss on Obi-Wan’s lax lips. He wasn’t even thinking about it, he just took a step and leaned forward, and later he would be pretty sure that if he _had_ been thinking at all he probably never would’ve done it.

For a lamentably short moment he actually thought he’d get away with it without any major implosions, explosions, or destruction of friendship, then Obi-Wan froze against him, body going taut as a wire beneath Anakin’s hands. He hadn’t even noticed that they’d found their way to Obi-Wan’s hips, but now he let go as if scalded.

“I’m – ” he started to stay, both horrified at Obi-Wan’s blank, uncomfortable gaze and unjustifiably hurt, then stopped because he realised he didn’t know where to go from there. He could say that he was sorry, and in a way he was, but he was sorry more for the outcome than the action itself – Force, he hadn’t even realised how much he’d wanted to kiss Obi-Wan before now, not _consciously_. He could try to pass it off as a fluke, a joke, but was fairly certain that he wasn’t that good an actor and Obi-Wan wasn’t that gullible anyway. He could… what could he do?

Of all the things he could’ve said, this was what actually tumbled out: “Padmé would be fine with it, you know, if that’s what you’re worried about, we’ll talk about this, and she definitely implied that she wants you too – ”

Obi-Wan’s mouth opened, then closed silently, his eyes still glazed.

“I’ll give you a little more warning next time?” Anakin tried, and then could’ve kicked himself because _next time_? How presumptuous was that?

Obi-Wan wasn’t reacting in any of the ways that had flashed through Anakin’s mind the second he’d pulled back from the kiss. There was redness dusting his cheekbones, and yet he neither looked happy at the turn of events, nor murderously wrathful at Anakin for overstepping his bounds by a few parsecs. If anything he looked _scared_.

Anakin was quickly discovering new depths of self-loathing for having put that expression on Obi-Wan’s face – Obi-Wan should never be scared, not because of him.

He opened his mouth to say something, _anything_ , but Obi-Wan beat him to it.

“Not really my area, Anakin,” he rasped – and fled. Without so much as another word, or an explanation.

Anakin was left to stare after him, feeling a little confused and a lot guilty.

*

Anakin was a whiner. He was so fond of whining, in fact, that every person in his life had their own strategy of how to deal with Anakin in a whiny mood. Padmé’s generally tended to be to leave him alone in his sulk, but this time he probably looked even more pathetic than usual, collapsed face-down on the sofa, for she only sighed and sat next to him. A gentle hand began to card through his hair.

He twisted his neck to look up at her. Also, to breathe – lying face down on the sofa might be appropriately dramatic, but it didn’t exactly aid the intake of oxygen. “He said ‘not my area’, Padmé. What does he even mean by that?”

Padmé had that look on her face that was a mix of despair at Anakin’s life choices – a frequent one – and the kind of blankness that said she was weighing her answer carefully.

“There’re a variety of possible reasons. Past history. Actually not being interested. Perhaps he didn’t want to talk about it. Besides, he’s a Jedi, Anakin. He’s been a Jedi for all his life. Do you think that kind of identity is easy to bend?”

“ _I_ am a Jedi.”

Padmé glared at him. “You know what I mean.”

He did feel a little contrite at that. “I know. He always was a better Jedi than me.” He blew out a frustrated breath, locks of hair stirring in the brush of air. “It’s just… I know that he feels _something_ , there was sadness there and something deeper and he just keeps burying it, ignoring it. I wish he would talk to me. Why doesn’t he talk to me?”

From anyone else the compassion in her voice would’ve rankled. “Obi-Wan himself is the only one who can really answer this question.”

Anakin snorted. “Have you tried to get Obi-Wan to talk about his emotions lately? It’s like trying to pull a krayt dragon’s teeth.”

“Perhaps you’re not approaching this in the right way? He’s not used to talking about feelings, you know. It’s like getting a scared puppy to sniff your hand.”

Anakin stared at her, eyes narrowing. “Since when are you such an expert on Obi-Wan?”

“We _are_ friends you know,” Padmé pointed out, rolling her eyes. “We’ve been meeting over tea to complain about you for years now.”

He felt like he should probably muster some outrage, but truthfully, the thought of Padmé and Obi-Wan getting along independently of him was rather comforting.

Anakin sighed forlornly into the pillow covering most of his face. “What should I do?”

Padmé, the goddess that she was, kept massaging his scalp. “Talk to him. Just talk, figure out where he stands without pressuring him into anything.” She gave him a stern look. “No more unsolicited kissing, okay?”

Anakin’s nod was probably swallowed mostly by the couch, but it was a start and Padmé hummed appreciatively – and then ruined it all by adding, “And don’t you dare fuck this up, Anakin.”

*

The time-honoured tradition of eavesdropping could come in handy now and then, Anakin found when he paused in the hallway outside the fireplace room. Padmé and Obi-Wan were discussing something in sombre tones, and though there was a small stirring of guilt at invading their privacy, there was no way Anakin could bring himself to move once he heard his name fall from Padmé’s lips.

“Anakin – ”

“You don’t see the way he looks at you,” Obi-Wan interrupted her quietly. “Like you hung the suns and the moons and yet shine brighter than any of them. How can anyone not feel lonely next to that?” His gaze dropped. “Even Jedi.”

Of course he looked at Padmé like that. She was Padmé, his angel.

 _Except,_ a small voice whispered at the back of his mind, _that you now have two angels_. Two beings who saved his soul and dragged him to the light.

Padmé’s voice carried through the air, light as a feather and infinitely gentle. “Anakin loves you, Obi-Wan. Not the same way he loves me, but just as much.”

“Why are you _doing_ this to me?”

Anakin started. He couldn’t remember ever hearing such confused desperation in Obi-Wan’s voice. Hurt bled through the Force.

It would’ve taken a stronger person than Anakin to keep pushing the point. Padmé has always been stronger than him.

“Because you two have been orbiting around each other for years now, Obi-Wan,” she said, not giving an inch, “and if you don’t sort yourself out and _talk_ about this like the mature adults you sometimes pretend to be, the inevitable collision won’t be pretty.”

Obi-Wan made a sound, low in his throat, half laughter half gasp, and it was all Anakin could do to jump into the next room and out of the way before the older man came barrelling around the corner.

Huh. So maybe he hadn’t screwed everything up irrevocably _yet_.

*

Given Obi-Wan’s usual MO, Anakin wasn’t surprised to find himself cornered in the kitchen a day later. Padmé was nowhere to be seen.

For once, he managed to keep his mouth shut, setting down the plate he’d been piling with food while Obi-Wan readied himself for whatever conversation he’d planned.

“I don’t do sex,” Obi-Wan said bluntly, and then crossed his arms in front of him in a way that was clearly not supposed to look stubbornly defiantly but very much did.

Anakin resisted the urge to scratch his head. “Um… okay?”

The gentle hum of the cooling unit sounded improbably loud in the ensuing silence. Obi-Wan was still staring at him, hurt and worry and dimming hope all mixed up in his eyes, and Anakin didn’t know what to _say_.

“So,” he started because Obi-Wan was clearly waiting for him to say _something_ and Anakin was floundering and hating the fact that he didn’t have Padmé’s knack for always knowing the right things to say, “does that mean you don’t want to? Or you can’t? Um, have sex, that is? Ever? Or is it just us – ”

“It has nothing to do with you specifically,” Obi-Wan interjected mercifully, though he still looked guarded. “I’m just not attracted to people that way. Never have been.”

Anakin’s mind flashed to youth in the Temple, the hushed conversations about the other sex, or sometimes the same sex, sex with multiple people, and just sex in general – it was probably less of a topic in the Temple than anywhere else because _Jedi_ but hormones happened to anyone regardless of Force ability – and he winced in sympathy.

And still Obi-Wan was watching him, cagey in a way entirely unlike him as if he was waiting for Anakin to throw their entire friendship out the window just because he was different.

“That’s fine?” Somehow it came out more as a question than he’d intended, and Obi-Wan’s brows drew together. Anakin hastily continued, “No, wait, listen, Obi-Wan, seriously this isn’t a problem. I don’t care whether you want to have sex with no one or with anything that moves. I’m not going to say I entirely understand where you’re coming from, but I don’t understand why some people have a thing for tentacles either so you’re not exactly without company here. It’s _fine_.”

Finally some of the lines around Obi-Wan’s eyes eased. “I’m going to ignore that bit about tentacles, if you don’t mind.”

Anakin ignored the way his ears warmed conspicuously. “Yeah, um, do that. Can I tell Padmé?”

Obi-Wan raised a brow. “Padmé already knows.”

“What?” Anakin yelped, not sounding nearly offended – or surprised, for that matter – enough even to his own ears. “And she didn’t tell me?”

“Your wife was of the opinion that I should tell you this myself. She has the irritating habit of being right about these things.”

Anakin rubbed a hand over his face. “Don’t I know it.”

“So you see,” Obi-Wan said, in that awfully reasonable tone he only ever employed when he was about to spout bantha podoo of the highest order, “that’s why whatever this” – he gestured vaguely between them – “thing that’s happening between us can’t really go anywhere.”

“Wait, that’s not – ” Anakin started, still trying to follow the abrupt change of track, because the rules of causation were going haywire in this conversation and this wasn’t exactly the same conclusion _he_ had come to, but Obi-Wan had already disappeared out the door in a dazzling display of stealth-speeding. He seemed to be making a habit out of that.

Anakin sighed, letting his head sink into his palms. At least he now had time to do some research.

*

Obi-Wan was avoiding him; which made something of a change since usually it was Anakin who was trying to avoid his Master, whether to get out of a lecture or to sneak off to see Padmé. Obi-Wan was the rational, sensible one who insisted on talking things out instead of letting them fester silently. To have their roles reversed like this was… unsettling, and it didn’t help that Obi-Wan was blasted good at just disappearing. Anakin could sense his presence still in the house, but he hadn’t actually seen the other Jedi for four days now and not for lack of trying. It was clear that Obi-Wan didn’t want to be found – and so no one would.

Giving up on what felt like the hundredth time he’d searched for his friend, Anakin slumped down next to Padmé in the lounge.

“Still no luck?” she asked.

When he shook his head, her frown deepened into a scowl. Anakin resisted the urge to shrink back slightly. He knew that look – it meant that Padmé was very close to losing her patience with the situation.

“That blasted _stubborn_ man – ”

“ – is right here.”

Obi-Wan was leaning in the doorway, looking tired and a little too pale. He half-smiled at their surprised expressions. “I could feel your agitation all the way from the lake.”

“Oh, and you couldn’t feel it yesterday, or the day before, or the day before _that_?” Anakin asked bitingly, but Obi-Wan only shrugged, the lines of exhaustion around his eyes deepening.

“I wasn’t ready then.”

Anakin opened his mouth to say something scathing, then thought better of it. He _knew_ Obi-Wan, perhaps better than anyone, which also meant he knew his former Master’s preferred coping mechanisms. While Anakin searched for comfort in those around him when something bothered him, Obi-Wan shut himself off from the world, finding a quiet corner to sort through his feelings until everything had been released into the Force as was proper.

After dumping all this on his friend’s head, could Anakin really blame him for needing time to himself?

“And you’re ready now?” he asked cautiously.

Obi-Wan’s shoulder drooped. “No. But I doubt more meditation is going to make me any readier.”

Now that was classic Obi-Wan, down to the way his face was impassive but his posture – arms crossed over his chest, weight settled slightly forward over his toes – all but screamed anxiety to the trained eye. In matters of the mood-scape of Obi-Wan Kenobi, Anakin’s was a _very_ well-trained eye.

The thundercloud had passed from Padmé’s expression and she sounded gently calm once more when she entreated, “Obi-Wan, sit down.”

Obi-Wan twitched slightly, no doubt calculating the increased time it would take to escape from a seated position, but he sat nonetheless. He too was familiar with the similarity between an akk hound sinking its teeth into a pound of meat and Padmé when she’d got it into her head to do something.

The silence stretched – not into the uncomfortable, the three of them had gone beyond that long ago; once you’ve lived through certain things together, no silence could faze – but just as Anakin had made up his mind to say something – though, admittedly, not _what_ – Obi-Wan spoke.

“I’m sorry I let you wait this long,” he said quietly, deliberately looking first Padmé then Anakin straight in the eye. A strained, wry smile followed. “You both know I’m not… used to dealing with this kind of thing.”

“Feelings, Obi-Wan,” Anakin said firmly. “At this stage you might as well say it.”

Obi-Wan glared at him. “You’re not exactly helping here, Anakin.”

Padmé too shot him an admonitory glance. Faced with two stern looks, it occurred to him, perhaps somewhat belatedly, that those two were bound to gang up on him all the kriffing time – read: even more than they already did – if this idealistic fool crusade of integrating Obi-Wan completely into their relationship succeeded. Seeing the way Obi-Wan ran a nervous hand over his beard, fond warmth brushing his heart, Anakin figured he wouldn’t mind so much.

“As I was saying, I’m not any _good_ at this,” Obi-Wan continued, suddenly looking painfully helpless.

“No one is good at this,” Padmé said dryly. “Love is one of these things that everybody walks into blindly. We don’t need to you to be _good_ at it, Obi-Wan, all we ask for is the courage to try.”

Obi-Wan’s expression was guarded. “That is no little thing you’re asking of me.”

Anakin smiled at him, with all the unguarded warmth he dared. “We know that, Master. But you’re the bravest man I know, always have been.”

“No pressure then,” Obi-Wan snorted, but his shoulders had relaxed slightly so Anakin counted it as a win.

“All right, so we’ve established we’re all bad at this,” Anakin said cheerfully. “What now?”

Padmé’s head dropped into her palm. “ _Anakin_ – ”

“What? No use beating around the bush any more.  The poor thing’s probably lost all its leaves already.”

He was absurdly proud of the way Obi-Wan’s beard twitched in – possibly horrified – amusement.

“Indeed.” The Jedi Master took a deep breath. “What, exactly, are you proposing? You two built a good thing. Despite all the opposition you faced, your bond is strong. You are _happy_. Why would you risk all of this just to include me? Relationships are hard enough without there being three people to consider.” He paused, his face twitching as he if he wanted to grimace but caught himself in time. “And then there’s the sex issue. Would you want to be in a committed, romantic relationship with someone who will never indulge in intercourse with you? _Could_ you?”

Anakin stared at him. _Just_ to include Obi-Wan? Sometimes the other man absolutely infuriated him, talking as if he wasn’t worth the effort that Anakin knew without a shadow of a doubt he was, as if sex was the most important thing here. He opened his mouth to give Obi-Wan a piece of his mind, only to be pre-empted by Padmé once more.

“It’s true, there’s risk in this, as in all things. You should know this better than most, Obi-Wan.” Her tone gentled. “We not only believe that you’re worth every bit of risk we could possibly take, but Anakin and I are also strong. Our bond will survive.”

Anakin frowned. That wasn’t exactly what he would have gone for in terms of comforting words. Yet Obi-Wan nodded, relief lightening his eyes. He supposed he really shouldn’t be surprised about Padmé finding the right words when it mattered anymore.

She smiled slightly. “As for sex, well, I don’t mind telling you that Anakin and I are keeping each other perfectly well-entertained on that front, and while you would always be welcome to join in in _any_ capacity you might wish to, I’m fairly certain that both of us will be fine with you not doing so.”

Correctly interpreting Obi-Wan’s sceptical expression, Padmé added, “And I’m not saying this lightly, Obi-Wan. I know that it won’t be easy, sexual intimacy is an important part of a relationship, but it’s not _the_ most important part by a long shot, and we’re all adults enough to recognise a good thing when it’s dropped into our lap, sex or no sex. Besides, it really is possible – Bail and Breha are doing perfectly fine, for one.”

That derailed Obi-Wan for a moment. “Bail and Breha?”

“You haven’t talked about it? You should visit Bail some time – he isn’t shy about his sexual orientation.”

“Huh,” Obi-Wan murmured, gaze turned inward. Then he shook his head, returning to the present and took another deep breath. “All right, say I’m convinced.” Some of the guardedness had left his face, but remnants of a frown remained. “I still don’t understand _why_.”

“Is it so hard to believe that we both love you enough to take a risk?”

Obi-Wan’s expression said it all.

Anakin’s heart constricted. _They’d just have to show him differently_.

*

They lay in bed.

A few months ago Anakin would’ve noted with chagrin that all three of them were fully clothed. Now he found that he really didn’t mind. There were times for nudity and there were times when their third partner was all but vibrating with nervous energy in the middle of the bed, looking for all the galaxy like a nerf which had stumbled into a nest of gundarks.

Anakin traded a significant look with Padmé. It had taken them weeks to get here (years, by some reckoning) and more conversations about feelings than Anakin’d ever thought he’d have in his life – he really wasn’t keen on screwing this up now.

Slowly, deliberately telegraphing his intent through the Force, he reached out his flesh hand and laid it on Obi-Wan’s arm.

“Relax, Master. We’re not going to eat you. Nothing is going to happen that you don’t explicitly want to, all right? _Nothing_.”

A shade of amusement touched Obi-Wan’s eyes at that. “You two might find yourself a tad disappointed with that in the long run.” Seriousness returned too quickly. “You shouldn’t call me Master in, um, this setting. We’re all equals here, and Force knows you’ve reminded me enough times that you’re not my Padawan anymore.”

It was a term of endearment now, more than anything else, a reflex to utter in fondness, but in this he would heed Obi-Wan’s wishes.

“Of course, Obi-Wan.”

The slight relaxation in Obi-Wan’s shoulders was as clear as any spoken thank you.

Before he could think better of it, Anakin wrapped both his arms around Obi-Wan and plastered his front against the other man’s side. His heart beat against Obi-Wan’s skin, for a moment suspended in time against a body that was strung tight as a spring, and then Obi-Wan let out a breath, his whole body softening against Anakin’s touch. Taking her cue, Padmé slipped closer on his other side, securely bracketing the erstwhile reluctant Jedi Master between them.

A small satisfied smile escaped Obi-Wan’s lips and he turned his face into Padmé’s dark hair. His trapped arm wriggled around a bit until Anakin shifted sufficiently for Obi-Wan to loop it around his shoulders. He then immediately proceeded to draw his former Padawan even closer. Anakin put up no fight whatsoever and buried his face in the perfectly shaped hollow made by Obi-Wan’s neck and shoulder.

A deep sense of contentment tingled in the air.

Anakin smothered a smile in Obi-Wan’s shoulder. It wasn’t _all_ coming from him and Padmé. Above his head Obi-Wan huffed quietly, but instead of drawing back as Anakin still half expected, he only tightened his grip on his two bed-partners.

Force, how could he have spent ten years with this man and never have noticed that he was _cuddler_?

He had to wonder at the strength of self-control that it had to take to completely ignore a part of your personality for decades. Why had he not noticed? Because there’d been nothing to suggest it, not even the hint of a hint. They’d bunked together before, of course, had had missions in close quarters, but Obi-Wan had always kept his distance.

“Will you stop _thinking_ ,” Obi-Wan mumbled, sounding rather adorably grumpy. “You’re giving me a headache.”

“Now that’s a new one,” Anakin said gleefully, shifting a bit so that his face unsquished enough to be able to talk. “Usually you can’t stop telling me to think more.”

Obi-Wan groaned, clearly anticipating Anakin’s smugness the next time he snapped at him to think before he leapt. “Yes, well, special circumstances.”

Projecting an aura of innocence that fooled no one, Anakin batted his eyelashes. “What if I call for special circumstances then?”

He could just about feel Obi-Wan’s glower trying to set Anakin’s hair on fire. “I will hand you your impertinent ass and drop you off at Yoda’s for some therapeutic meditation.”

Anakin took a moment to think about that. “That’s harsh.”

“ _Force gods_ ,” Padmé burst out, “will you two shut up? Some of us are trying to sleep here!”

Obi-Wan and Anakin traded silently sheepish looks.

“Sorry, angel. Old habits.”

Obi-Wan was muttering something incoherent that sounded distantly like agreement.

“Old _habits_? How did you ever _sleep_?” Padmé asked, sounding aghast.

Anakin shrugged vaguely. “Sleep wasn’t as much a priority as sanity.”

Padmé fell silent, and Anakin heard Obi-Wan’s sharp indrawn breath.

“Well,” the older man said carefully, “good thing we can have both now.”

Snuggling back into the hollow of Obi-Wan’s arm as he stretched out a hand for Padmé to take on Obi-Wan’s other side, Anakin could only agree.

*

The second time Anakin kissed Obi-Wan was also unplanned and went completely against his resolution to let the other determine their pace – not to _push_. (Especially after that first, somewhat disastrous attempt.) Some research and a short discussion with Obi-Wan which had mostly consisted of the older man shrugging and declaring kissing ‘fairly nice if nothing to get excited about, but don’t get any ideas about anything more because no’ really wasn’t enough to go on. Unfortunately, pushing was what Anakin did best and, in his defence, how was he supposed to resist Obi-Wan’s sleepily adorable face inches from his own? It wasn’t every day that he opened his eyes in the morning to find mussed ginger hair and a sliver of lightly sparkling blue-grey eyes in his vision.

Before he could stop himself, he leant forward and pressed a gentle kiss to Obi-Wan’s closed lips. Barely a brush of a touch, yet Obi-Wan’s eyes flew open, any drowsiness evaporating. Anakin drew back, and just as he was about to start feeling guilty, a gentle, even pleased smile appeared on Obi-Wan’s lips. The lips Anakin had just kissed – the thought made him giddy.

“Good morning, Anakin.”

“Morning, cyar’ika.”

Obi-Wan’s cheeks went slightly pink.

“I can’t believe I spent all that time trying to hammer any kind of language into your brain and it’s Mando’a that you pick up like nobody’s business.”

Anakin smiled, recalling hours spent in the gardens with a datapad of vocabulary, getting side-tracked and Obi-Wan finally hunting him down with that long-suffering look of his. “What can I say, Rex is a good influence.”

“Clearly I need to take some lessons from him.”

“You’re plenty good influence, Obi-Wan, but even you need to take a break now and then.”

Patting at his mussed hair, Obi-Wan raised his head and looked around.

“Where’s Padmé?”

Anakin rolled his eyes at the blatant change of subject, but answered obligingly enough. “She’s already up. I think she probably wanted to give us some space.”

Obi-Wan frowned. “But she’s a part of this as much as you and I are. I don’t want her to feel left out.”

 _Or usurp her place_ , remained unsaid but not unheard. Bonds tended to do that to you.

“You’re not usurping anything. I know that, Padmé knows that, it’s only you who refuses to get it into your stubborn head.”

“Then why did she leave?”

Anakin shrugged. “My guess is that she wanted to give you time to adjust. We don’t want to overwhelm you.”

A look of affront passed over Obi-Wan’s face. “I know that I haven’t been dealing with this as well as I could have,” he grumbled, “but I’m not _that_ fragile.”

Anakin raised his hands in supplication as much as a gesture of sincerity. “We know that. It’s just… we want this to work, and there’s no harm in going slowly.”

Obi-Wan stared at him for a moment, then raised a single exaggerated eyebrow.

“Who are you and what have you done with Anakin?”

“Ha ha,” Anakin muttered, sitting up somewhat regretfully. The blanket pooled around his waist and he shivered slightly at the sudden brush of colder air against his exposed chest.

This time Obi-Wan’s blush verged on scarlet, but there was something openly appreciative in his gaze that offset any embarrassment.

Anakin raised a brow.

“What, just because I don’t want to have sex with you doesn’t mean I can’t admire your physique.”

Anakin preened, making Obi-Wan huff.

“Don’t let it get to your head, young one,” Obi-Wan advised, untangling himself from the mess of blankets that had migrated over to his side of the bed during the night with some difficulty.

Anakin grinned. “Who me?”

Obi-Wan shot him his patented ‘you’re not convincing anyone’ look over his shoulder as he was hunting for his tunics.

“I think I smell breakfast. And here I was thinking it’d have to be me cooking again.”

Anakin raised his hands in mock supplication. “In all fairness, you know I can’t cook worth a damn. Besides, breakfast is overrated.”

It was one of their more frequent arguments, and Anakin usually brought the topic up when he wanted to get Obi-Wan to make that particular grumpy face, and– without fail – mutter, “ _Heathen_.”

It had taken Anakin all of three days to figure out that Obi-Wan was a bad-tempered monster if he didn’t get breakfast in the morning – and he’d been ten at the time, and grieving. Slightly older Anakin had quickly learned to use this to his advantage, by bribing his Master with the nicest breakfast foods the commissary had to offer whenever he wanted something that he knew Obi-Wan would disapprove of; the ploy had worked about once in thirty tries, but Anakin had figured that that wasn’t such a bad rate really. The more embarrassing side of the story, which he tended to omit, was that it’d taken him nearly his whole apprenticeship to realise that Obi-Wan knew full well what he was doing, but let him keep trying it anyway because there was food in it for him.

Padmé was turning over a Nubian version of flatcakes when they entered the kitchen, and shot them both a radiant smile over her shoulder.

Watching Obi-Wan’s face from the corner of his eye, Anakin, for the first time in his life, got to see someone else falling farther in love with Padmé without the usual flames of jealousy. Well, and who could blame Obi-Wan? Her smile and the smell of fresh flatcakes were as lethal a combination as he could imagine.

*

Nothing said vacation like a post-lunch nap – even if Padmé did abandon them to work on some Senate-related thing that, according to her, _really_ couldn’t wait. Yeah, Anakin was sceptical about that one.

In the circle of Anakin’s arms, Obi-Wan made a contented sound, a cross of deep rumbling purr and happy sigh, and suddenly Anakin found himself with a face full of wings. The next few seconds saw a muffled cry, some very undignified flailing and Anakin falling off the side of the couch.

His back on the cold floor, Anakin raised a wondering hand to his face. He could still _feel_ the tingle of heated energy, as warmly welcoming as the man it had come from. A second later Obi-Wan’s concerned face appeared in his field of vision.

“What was that, Anakin?”

Anakin took the offered hand up. “Don’t ask me. It was _your_ wings that suddenly materialized right in my face.”

Obi-Wan’s face clouded, his wings disappearing immediately. The absence of their light left the room darker, a little less comfortable than it had seemed just a moment ago.

The tension was back in Obi-Wan’s body, as well as the slightly pinched look that Anakin saw as quintessentially Obi-Wan, and had he ever really stopped to think what that meant, that his Master’s default state was one of barely concealed stress? Oh, someone unfamiliar with him might not notice it, might not notice the cracks and fault lines running through his Jedi bearing, might think him cold and distant indeed. That wasn’t to say that Obi-Wan Kenobi wasn’t a Jedi through and through and extremely capable, but even for Jedi, happiness was supposed to be more than an abstract concept – perhaps harder earned with all that their eyes saw out in the galaxy, but not _impossible_.

With startling, violent clarity, Anakin realised that he wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Obi-Wan truly happy. Amused and even content, resolved to his lot in life, but not happy. Hot on the heels of this realisation came the resolution to do everything in his power to change that fact – and what Anakin Skywalker resolved to do, Anakin Skywalker did. Even if this would be a rather more long-term project.

He only became conscious of having been staring at Obi-Wan dumbly for the last who knew how many minutes when the object of his thoughts suddenly moved in closer, face creased in worry, eyes searching. As usual he discarded his own distress to help Anakin, always put others before himself, and everyone else’s wellbeing above his own.

“Anakin?”

“You needn’t hide them,” he said quietly in answer. “I didn’t mean that. They’re part of you.”

The pinched look returned. “Not at the moment, they’re not. Not with _those_ ” – he gestured towards his back – “there.”

Uncharacteristic bitterness coated Obi-Wan’s words.

Deliberately telegraphing his movements, Anakin wordlessly stepped closer, until they were almost touching, and then gently, like he was feeling across a broken part to find the smallest of faults in the metal, stroked his hands up and down Obi-Wan’s back, where the wings usually sprouted.

“I’m not saying you need to be comfortable with your wings from one day to the next,” he said quietly, ignoring the coiled tension trembling beneath his fingertips. “I know it’s not that easy, and I won’t keep pushing you, but this _is_ you, and that barve can’t take that away from you. Ever. Ask anyone and they’ll agree.” Anakin slowed his breathing as it threatened to pick up. “In fact, I would consider myself something of an expert here.”

A ghost of a smile touched Obi-Wan’s face. “You? Stop pushing? Don’t fib, Anakin.”

Anakin chuckled. “All right, so I won’t stop pushing entirely, but I’ll be gentle about it. You know, so that your fragile self can cope.”

“My _fragile_ self has coped with _you_ for thirteen years, Anakin,” Obi-Wan retorted dryly. “I think I’ll live.”

Anakin smiled. “Good. I’ll hold you to that.”

Then he bumped his nose against Obi-Wan’s just to hear him squawk.

*

Padmé and Obi-Wan were snoring lightly on the couch, wrapped up in each other in order not to fall off the edge. Though there was a perfectly nice bed just a few meters away, the couch seemed to see a lot more sleeping Jedi and Senators than seemed entirely reasonable. Listening to the barely perceptible whistling of air through Obi-Wan’s nose, Anakin smiled to himself. He’d always been fascinated by the fact that his Master could sleep eerily quietly, without making a single sound, but when he felt truly comfortable that little snore emerged. It was probably a Jedi Master thing or something (anyone who spent so much of their life on guard was bound to develop some strange habits), but Anakin couldn’t help but find it absolutely _adorable_.

So adorable, in fact, that he snuck away to get a holocamera to immortalise the moment – Ahsoka would surely appreciate a holoimage, and he could always do with some more blackmail material on Obi-Wan.

Neither of the two lovebirds noticed when he tiptoed out of the room again, making a beeline for the nearest holoprojector.

He only had to wait a moment for the call to go through.

“Skyguy!” Ahsoka smiled, looking reassuringly delighted to hear from him.

“Hey, Snips,” he said, answering smile as reflexive as the warm feeling in his chest whenever he heard from her.

 “What’s up?” Her eyes narrowed. “You aren’t in trouble again, are you? The last time I called you you’d just fought another Sith Lord and nearly got your butt handed to you.”

Anakin sighed. Get in trouble a couple itsy times and this was what you got for the rest of your life.

“For the record, I did _not_ ‘get my butt handed to me’, and I’m perfectly fine. And Obi-Wan is fine too,” he added, and Ahsoka’s mouth snapped shut again. “We’re on _leave_.”

Ahsoka expression could only be described as highly sceptical. “That’s never stopped you from finding trouble before. I’m not sure _anything_ has ever stopped you from finding trouble.”

Anakin scowled, fingers tapping away on the comm station’s controls. “Anyway. I’ve got something to show you, you’ll like this.”

He could easily pinpoint the moment the image uploaded on her side as Ahsoka started making cooing noises with slightly alarming fervour.

“Aww, look at them,” she grinned. “How adorable.”

An answering grin spread over Anakin’s face. “Aren’t they just.”

Abruptly sobering, Ahsoka tilted her head, and even as a blue, transparent figure Anakin could see the seriousness in her eyes. “Are you – you are all right with this, Skyguy, aren’t you?”

A fond smile passed over his face. Even now, she was still looking out for him.

“More than all right, Snips, I promise,” he said warmly. “Believe me, it took the combined efforts of Padmé and me to even get Obi-Wan to this point.”

Her shoulders relaxed. “I wouldn’t have expected anything else. Master Obi-Wan outstubborns even you, Mas- Anakin.”

This pain was familiar, a sharp stab at his heart. “What about you, Ahsoka?” he asked quietly. “How have you been?”

She clearly read the worry and guilt in his face, for she smiled at him, perhaps with less enthusiasm than in the past but equally as warm. “I’m doing fine, Skyguy. Don’t worry about me. I’ve been on Onderon for a while, helping with the restoration effort.”

Anakin regarded her solemnly. There was a new certainty in the way Ahsoka held herself, her quiet strength dragged out and pushed to the forefront, and her eyes were clear of much of the lurking disbelief and shame that’d been there the last time they’d met face to face. He swallowed past the sudden lump in his throat. “I probably didn’t say it enough, Ahsoka, but I’m proud of you.  You were a fine apprentice and you’re growing into an even finer woman.”

She smiled at him, luminous. “Thank you, Master. That means a lot to me.”

This time neither of them commented on the use of his title.

Her smile turned wicked. “Even if it did take you three years to admit it.”

Anakin shrugged, nonchalant to the point of exaggeration. “Have to have some reason to keep calling you, don’t I?” He leaned a little closer to the hologram. “Keep in touch, all right? I don’t want another year of no contact.”

She nodded, her montrals swaying gently. “I promise.”

A moment of silence followed, then:

“Obi-Wan doesn’t know you took this image, does he?”

Anakin grinned. “Nope.”

*

Considering what they’d spent the last three years doing, nightmares were pretty much a given, and Anakin and Obi-Wan had long ago hammered out a system of how to deal with the other shooting awake in the middle of the night with horrors reflected in their eyes. It wasn’t a system that always worked – sometimes Obi-Wan would quietly slip out of their quarters, tent, or whatever thing they were huddling under, the furrow between his eyebrows even more pronounced and his thoughts shadowed as he sought solitude. Sometimes Anakin would bat away Obi-Wan’s soothing hand and go to the hangar to fix whatever broken tech he could get his hands on. Sometimes either of them lashed out at the other, reflexive pain miring the Force around them.

When Anakin was jostled out of sleep by Obi-Wan’s thrashing next to him, his first reaction was to check for Padmé, but her side of the bed lay empty. Anakin’s brow furrowed, but a small, pained noise forcing its way from Obi-Wan’s throat redirected his attention to more pressing matters. Anakin had enough of his own nightmares, lately mostly involving Palpatine transforming from kindly uncle to monster while Anakin knelt in front of him (sometimes, when his subconscious really wanted to torture him, it threw in Padmé’s and Obi-Wan’s dead bodies as well) to recognise the signs.

Anakin was just stretching out his hand to shake Obi-Wan’s shoulder, when the other man sat bolt upright in bed, breathing heavily, face pallid beneath a thin sheen of sweat. Anakin’s hand hovered just above his arm, not quite touching. Experience had taught him to be careful when approaching another Jedi just awoken from a nightmare, until he could be certain they were at least aware of their surroundings.

Obi-Wan would never forgive himself if he accidentally hurt Anakin.

For a moment the only thing that could be heard in the quiet room was Obi-Wan’s harsh breathing, coming in stuttered gaps, then slightly wild eyes fixed on Anakin’s face. “Anakin?”

“I’m here, Obi-Wan,” he said quietly, hand coming down to anchor Obi-Wan with his touch. “You’re fine. I’m fine. We’re safe.”

Slowly Obi-Wan’s breathing evened out slightly, his eyes losing their manic edge as he took in his surroundings.

“Oh, Sith hells,” he sighed wearily, rubbing a hand over his face.

Anakin watched him, keeping his hand in place. Obi-Wan was trembling ever so faintly beneath his touch and it made Anakin’s heart ache in all the wrong ways.

“Wanna talk about it?”

Obi-Wan huffed a mirthless laugh. “Gods no. I want to _never think about it again_. Unfortunately my brain seems to disagree.”

Anakin scooted a bit closer to him until their sides were pressed together, still moving slowly because old shadows had reawakened in Obi-Wan’s eyes and it probably wasn’t a good idea to startle him right now.

He chose his next words carefully.

“We never really talked about the war, you know?”

Obi-Wan’s piercing gaze narrowed in on him – it was already sharpening as the last of his disorientation faded – then he shrugged, as if unconcerned, but Anakin noted the care he took to avoid Anakin’s gaze. “Why talk about something we had to live with every day?”

A big part of Anakin wanted to agree, the part that wished, more than anything, to pretend that everything was fine, that _they_ were fine and not as damaged as he knew they were in truth. But Ahsoka wasn’t the only one who’d done some maturing in the last few years and grown in wisdom.

“ _Because_ we had to live with it every day. It’s changed us. It’s changed everyone, you know that.”

Obi-Wan barked a bitter laugh. “Of course I do, how could I not? The problem is that I can’t _forget_.”

Dimly Anakin wondered how he hadn’t got used to the feeling of his heart breaking by now. “It isn’t fair,” he said helplessly, eyes sliding closed as he leaned more heavily against Obi-Wan’s side. “We are Jedi. We shouldn’t be pushed to want to forget.”

“We are unclean, _stained_ because of a war we fought for a Sith Lord we thought was our ally. Our _friend_. No, it’s not _fair_. It’s not what the Jedi Order used to stand for. And still we did it.”

“We didn’t know about Palpatine at the time,” Anakin protested, so intent on helping Obi-Wan that he entirely failed to notice that he’d spoken the name without hesitation for the first time since he’d realised just how much their relationship had been a lie.

Obi-Wan’s mouth turned down. “No, we didn’t. But we knew that Jedi weren’t soldiers, and yet we let politics strong-arm us into acting as such.”

Anakin’s head was spinning from the sudden change of direction this conversation had taken – into territory that he did his best not to dwell on.

“We were defending the Republic!” he whisper-shouted because for this he would always be able to find intensity, find conviction. This was the one thing he wouldn’t budge on. “A way of life that no single person can destroy! Do you really see that as wrong?”

Obi-Wan passed a shaking hand over his face. “No, of course not, but ours wasn’t the right way either. It _can’t_ have been.”

“We were manipulated from day one, Master. You _know_ this.”

Obi-Wan sighed, suddenly aged past his years. “I’m just tired,” he admitted after a moment. “The war is over, and I’m still tired of it all.” Obi-Wan shook his head. “I’ve tried releasing it into the Force, but…” He shrugged. “The Force can only do so much.”

There was nothing Anakin could say to that, so he pressed a gentle kiss to Obi-Wan’s neck, heard the other man let out some of his pain and weariness with a long sigh, and couldn’t deny the little pinprick of pleasure as Obi-Wan turned his face towards him, accepting the comfort.

Obi-Wan’s mouth tickled where it moved against the bare skin of Anakin’s shoulder. “Where’s Padmé?”

“I don’t know,” Anakin replied and immediately regretted it when Obi-Wan straightened.

“You should find her.”

Anakin opened his mouth to protest, but halted when Obi-Wan’s finger came to rest on his lips, shushing him. “We’re in this together, remember?”

It was the reassurance that Obi-Wan had clearly known Anakin needed, and considering the subject matter Anakin couldn’t even muster the energy to be indignant at the subtle manipulation – especially not since Obi-Wan’s ghost of a smile held a trace of amusement now.

Anakin padded towards the large window where Padmé’s form cast a shadow in the light of the moon.

“Are you all right, angel? You weren’t in bed.”

Padmé turned around, guilty look vanishing from her face. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“You could’ve woken us.” His mouth turned up wryly. “As you can see we didn’t do so well on that front either.”

Padmé sighed in sympathy. “It shouldn’t be so hard to remember the last time I slept peacefully through the night. Nightmares?”

Anakin nodded. “Obi-Wan this time. I did my best to talk him down, but neither of us felt like going back to sleep.”

“Hot chava and a holomovie?” Padmé suggested, already moving towards the kitchen.

“We’re not watching one of those ridiculously mushy ones you like so much.” Obi-Wan had returned from the fresher, looking a little less like death warmed over.

“Admit it, Obi-Wan,” Anakin teased, “you secretly like those.”

“Just because _some_ people don’t have taste – ” Obi-Wan grumbled, but he joined Anakin on the trusty sofa eagerly enough, and accepted the steaming cup Padmé handed him without fuss.

“We’re watching One Night on Coruscant,” Padmé declared, planting herself between the two of them firmly.

Anakin slowly raised his hand. “Do we not get a vote?” he asked plaintively. He’d seen _One Night on Coruscant_ five times already and it was getting _old_.

“Nope,” Padmé said cheerfully. “My household, my choice.”

Obi-Wan barely disguised a snigger as a very unconvincing cough, which turned into a startled snort when Anakin threw a pillow at his head.

A moment later he regretted that decision when Obi-Wan retaliated with two pillow projectiles and impeccable aim.

Between them, Padmé sighed. “ _Boys_.”

*

Obi-Wan had been restless for a few days now. Anakin watched him pace the perimeter of the Lakehouse for the third time in as many hours, brows drawing together in concern. When his former Master had made his way back to him, he laid a soothing hand on his arm, only to almost draw back in surprise at the simmering tension that assaulted his senses.

“What’s the matter? You’ve been more nervous than a caged akk, Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan shrugged, looking uneasy. Tellingly, he didn’t even attempt to dislodge Anakin’s grip. “There’s something… elusive. The Force is trying to tell me something but I can’t quite get it to focus right. There’s some darkness here.”

“Here? On Naboo?”

Obi-Wan gave him a Look. “Are you really surprised? This planet does keep trying to kill us.”

“Point.”

“That reminds me, Naboo security forces have been all over Palpatine’s house, but they didn’t find anything else. No problems either, thank the Force, but a dead end. At least they’re pretty sure it’s his. They traced the deed to the building to a small building corporation supposedly based in The Works on Coruscant, which, according to all archives they’ve consulted doesn’t exist.”

“Good riddance,” Anakin said darkly. “The fewer traces we find of that _dopa-maskey kung_ the better.”

For once Obi-Wan didn’t give him a Look for his enthusiastic use of Huttese swearwords, but nodded in complete agreement.

A moment of silence passed. Then: “I have a bad feeling about this.”

Anakin sighed, only barely resisting the urge to bury his head in his hands. “I really wish you hadn’t said that.”

Obi-Wan’s bad feelings were never wrong. Not a single time. The fact that he said it about once a mission only served to show what kind of clusterfucks they generally ended up in.

Obi-Wan’s face was grim. “So do I.”

“Anything we can do about it?”

A shade of amusement touched Obi-Wan’s eyes. “Besides wait? No, I don’t think so.”

Because he was _so_ good at waiting.

“Bother.”

Obi-Wan nodded. While his former Master was, generally, a patient man, that didn’t mean he liked waiting around for trouble to find them.

_And to think we’re supposed to be on leave._

He was almost convinced that this was a conspiracy by the Jedi Council, to discourage them from requesting leave ever again.

*

Padmé had taken the news that they were very probably in for a spot of trouble with her general aplomb, though she too hadn’t been thrilled, and hadn’t entirely managed to mask her worry either.

“Do you Jedi never get a break?” she demanded, half sour, half plaintive.

“Business as usual,” Anakin shrugged, with slightly less than his usual swagger. Even the Hero Without Fear got tired. “Besides, it might be someone wanting to assassinate _you_ again. The Force doesn’t tend to be very specific in these warnings.”

“Ha ha,” Padmé re-joined dryly. “I’m pretty certain that you have more attempted assassinations to your name than I do, General Skywalker.”

He raised a brow. “Really, _Senator_ Amidala? Do you _really_ want to make this into a contest? That barf Nute Gunray alone has added at least ten to your count. And then there was Ziro and – ”

Anakin’s body instinctively reacted to the combative heat that flared in Padmé’s eyes, drawing her into the circle of his arms for a deep kiss.

“Ahem.”

Obi-Wan cleared his throat loudly – and pointedly – behind them. Anakin might or might not have entirely forgotten he was there.

“It’s not that I mind that you two keep… _canoodling_ ,” Obi-Wan went on, arms crossed in front of his chest and sporting the same ‘disapproving Master’ expression that had been the bane of Anakin’s teenage years, “but could you _please_ not actually have sex in the living room? We _eat_ here. The bedroom is there for a reason, you know.”

Padmé failed to stifle a giggle behind her hand. Obi-Wan’s expression grew, if possible, even more unimpressed. Anakin decided that retreat was the better part of valour in this case, and dragged Padmé with him. “Um, yeah, we’ll just be going now.”

He pretended not to have heard the tutting sounds coming from Obi-Wan’s direction in reply, much like he was pretending that the thought of Obi-Wan watching them wasn’t nearly as embarrassing as some part of his brain insisted it should’ve been.

By the time they’d reached the bedroom, Padmé’s gaze was equally hot and knowing, even as she crowded him against the wall.

“Something to keep in mind for a later date?” she whispered.

Anakin, who felt like he was still scrambling to find his brain from where it’d scattered all over the floor, nodded.  He really didn’t deserve her. Then she did something inspirationally coordinated with her mouth and hand, and the last vestiges of coherent thought trilled a startled goodbye.

*

The next day started much less pleasantly, with Padmé bursting into the room, faced drained of all colour.

“Turn on the holonet,” she gasped, and Obi-Wan complied without hesitation. Anything that had Padmé this rattled…

The screen fizzled to life, displaying a darkly hooded face, whose mouth was caught in mid-sentence. “ – Droga and I am the Emperor’s Hand. The Queen is my hostage and a bomb will eradicate this palace if the Jedi on this planet, Obi-Wan Kenobi, does not surrender himself to me. You have two hours.”

The image flickered for a moment, then returned to the regularly scheduled news programme.

Anakin turned towards Obi-Wan, whose expression was especially sour.

“Another evil guy with a personal grudge against you? Really, Obi-Wan?”

Obi-Wan pulled a face. “It’s not my fault! I don’t even know who he _is_.”

“Maybe you just have that kind of personality,” Anakin smirked.

“Hah! _You’re_ not one to talk, Padawan. At least two in ten people we meet try to kill you because of _your_ charming personality.”

“Two in ten? That’s a bit harsh, don’t you think?” A moment and a rapid scanning of his mental list of recent near scrapes later, he said, “Actually, you’re right. I take it back.”

Obi-Wan looked smug. Anakin might’ve felt annoyed if the expression didn’t look so good on the older man. Besides, trying to keep Obi-Wan from being smug was like attempting to pull a moon out of orbit without the Force.

Padmé’s irate voice interrupted them both. “ _Seriously_? You’re just going to stand here and bicker while some madman is attempting to blow up the royal palace _with the Queen inside it_?”

“Ah, my apologies, Padmé,” Obi-Wan offered, somehow managing to look rueful. “One does get somewhat desensitised to these things.”

“And we’re not just standing here,” Anakin contributed, “we’re waiting for our ride.”

As if on cue, one of the smaller Nubian freighters dropped out of the sky onto their lawn, a worried Captain Panaka at the helm, and Anakin mentally congratulated himself on his excellent timing.

Obi-Wan threw him a reproachful look. Anakin ignored him.

“Let’s go.”

*

The evacuation of the palace was already nearly finished when Anakin, Padmé and Obi-Wan joined the handmaidens and higher ranked security officers in the hastily established tactical base near the threatened building. However much Anakin wished they could just charge in and take control of the situation like they did best, they desperately needed at least some intel before going into this mess. In fact, any intel would be nice.

The current security chief, a distant relative of Panaka’s (that man’s family seemed to be _everywhere_ in the Naboo security forces), had greeted them with visible relief; Anakin couldn’t blame him, considering this bantha dung heap of a mess. Any Jedi present evened the odds, and him and Obi-Wan counted as at least four Jedi all by themselves.

“He isn’t in the throne room,” Anakin noted, frowning at the holographic image of Theed Palace.

Obi-Wan was stroking his beard in that particular way that meant he was verging on upset. “Which means he’s smarter than we’d like.”

“Yeah,” Anakin agreed glumly. A flick of his wrist called up the holomessage Droga had left next to the model of the palace. “According to the Naboo security, he’s holed up near the power generators on one of the lower levels.”

A grimace flashed over Obi-Wan’s face, but he didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to – Anakin was all too aware of Obi-Wan’s lingering grief regarding what had happened in that place over ten years ago.

Obi-Wan, being Obi-Wan, pushed his concerns aside, refocusing his attention onto the map.

“We don’t seem to have many options here,” Obi-Wan said carefully, crossing his arms.

Anakin knew that tone. “You can’t actually be thinking of surrendering yourself to him.”

“Do you have a better idea? I’m certainly not willing to let the Queen and everyone in the palace die, Anakin.”

Anakin knew he was too tense, too worried, too _everything_ , but he couldn’t help it. One of these days Obi-Wan was actually going to get himself killed and they’d only just got their shit together. Death was always the one thing Anakin couldn’t stop being afraid of.

Obi-Wan’s eyes softened, and any other time Anakin would’ve found it exceedingly adorable when he went on tiptoes to press a gentle kiss to Anakin’s brow. “I’ll be fine, kachalla. I’m always fine. And once you’ve neutralised the bomb you’ll be free to watch my back.”

It wasn’t exactly a compromise, but Anakin knew he wasn’t going to get anything better – anyone who claimed _he_ was stubborn had clearly never met Obi-Wan. Or Padmé, come to think of it. He nodded, rather miserable and really not comforted by the quick smile Obi-Wan sent his way before vanishing through the door.

Staring at the empty space his other third had just vacated, Anakin dimly wondered what the hell kachalla meant.

This definitely was a conspiracy by the Jedi Council to never make them request leave ever again.

“Do we have a vidfeed? Security recordings?”

One of the handmaidens stood next to Padmé shook her head. “Droga disabled the cameras. We’re blind.”

Anakin bit back a growl of frustration. He didn’t like letting Obi-Wan walk into an unknown situation. It was risky and foolhardy, and did he mention he didn’t like it?

“Right. Let’s focus on finding that bomb and then we can help Obi-Wan out.”

Anakin had only been pacing the length of the command centre for five minutes, all but vibrating out of his skin with energy, when the call came.

Padmé looked up from her comlink. “They found the bomb. It’s in the main hangar.”

Anakin took off without another word. He refused to remember what had started in the main hangar many years ago. Refused to think about the fact that they knew absolutely nothing about Droga’s capabilities, and that Obi-Wan was, at this very moment, facing him alone.

Whatever Droga’s plan was, he either hadn’t been worried about anyone finding the bomb or it was just a distraction, since he hadn’t even bothered to hide it particularly well. Anakin knelt down beside the bright yellow Naboo starfighter below which a mass of wires and blinking lights all but screamed DANGER. Deliberately slowing down his breathing, he took a moment to simply look at the bomb, tracing wire connections and figuring out the electronics. Then he sank into the eddies of the Force and began to work.

His wrist comlink beeped and he toggled it with one finger while the rest of the hand remained busy with volatile wiring. “Skywalker here.”

“Queen Apailana is safe and with us in the temporary strategic base.” Padmé’s voice filtered through the air, as clear and beautiful as the first time he’d heard it. “Obi-Wan got her out. She says Droga seemed more interested in him than her.”

Budding relief immediately evaporated. He squashed his first disgraceful thought of ‘ _and she left Obi-Wan alone with him?’_ – after all, what could she have done?

“Understood,” he said tersely. “I will call in once I have disabled the bomb. Skywalker out.”

With time furiously ticking in the back of his mind, with Obi-Wan in mortal danger only a few levels below and the lives of everyone still in the palace in his hands, Anakin bent back over the bomb and went to work. His hands didn’t tremble.

This was the thing about Anakin Skywalker – many called him brash and arrogant, too sure of himself and his abilities and the galaxy bending to his will when he needed it to. But what they forgot was simply this: Anakin might be brash, and yes arrogant, but he was also undeniably _that_ _good_. When a man with the power to burn up suns cast his mind to something, the galaxy _did_ jump to do his will because it couldn’t do anything else. He didn’t let it. And if there was one thing Anakin had always been good with it was machines. The bomb never stood a chance.

Disconnecting the last wire, Anakin toggled his comm with a terse, “Bomb disabled. I’m going after Obi-Wan.”

He didn’t stick around to hear an answer, bringing the Force to bear to propel him to the plasma reactors as fast as inhumanly possible.

Obi-Wan and Droga were trading blows all across the vast hall, blue and red and yellow clashing in dazzling displays of power and grace that would’ve been beautiful if they weren’t so deadly. Anakin’s concerned eye found a number of scorch marks on Obi-Wan’s beige tunics, no doubt facilitated by his opponent’s skilled use of the Jar’Kai, but none of them appeared serious from afar and he was moving fluidly without evident pain. Droga was favouring his left side slightly, where Obi-Wan had dealt him a blow more serious than any of the ones landed on his own person. At this rate, Anakin estimated the duel would be over in five minutes, tops – he was almost tempted to hang back and drink in the sight of Obi-Wan in his natural element; Anakin didn’t get much chance to simply observe the marvel his former Master was with his lightsaber, all fluid grace, considering they were usually either knee-deep in battle droids, or sparring with each other when it happened .

However, before he could join the fight and reduce that estimate to two minutes, Droga also seemed to realise that his tactic wasn’t working.

“You’ve been lucky, Jedi,” he hissed, keeping himself just out of the reach of Obi-Wan’s lightsaber. He cocked his head, as if puzzled, and even Anakin, still some metres away, could feel his foul mind stretching out in the Force. Obi-Wan, much closer, winced as he took the brunt of the attack. Droga’s face contorted, somewhere between rage and triumph. “You bear my Master’s mark.” A slow smile spread across his face, and the madness of fervour in his features sent shivers down Anakin’s spine. “Even in death, he has defeated you, Jedi!”

Anakin watched in horror as Droga stretched out a hand and suddenly Obi-Wan was floating in the air, clawing at an invisible force attacking him. His wings burst forth from his back, straining towards Droga’s hand as if drawn by an overpowered magnet. Dark mist was curling up from the feathers’ edges, as if Droga was drawing the vestiges of dark side into himself, and with a last twist of the mad-eyed assassin’s hand, Obi-Wan jerked once more and then slid to the floor, his wings disappearing.

Standing over Obi-Wan’s prone body with a triumphant smile, drunk on the sudden influx of power, Droga forgot the first lesson any Jedi youngling ever learned – be mindful of your surroundings. He was taken completely by surprise by Anakin dropping out of the air on top of his head, his lightsaber raised in a double-handed overhead chop. The dark sider jumped backwards with a cry of pain as Anakin’s swipe caught his left arm. Anakin followed, pressing his advantage.

/ _Lead him back to me,_ / Obi-Wan’s voice sounded in his mind, tired but with no less of his usual steely determination. Anakin didn’t glance toward the place his former Master lay – if Obi-Wan said he should lead Droga to him, Anakin would do so, even if he had doubts about the plan. Obi-Wan never overestimated his capabilities in battle. Sometimes he knew that he wasn’t capable enough and _still_ went ahead with his plan, but that was a different issue.

Backing up slightly, Anakin let Droga press his advantage until they stood almost above the prone Obi-Wan, exchanging lightning-fast blows. Distracted by his efforts not to get himself killed on either of the two wicked rust-coloured blades, Anakin only glimpsed Obi-Wan’s plan once it was nearly executed. He let his own blade drop by his side just as a brilliant sapphire-coloured blade erupted from Droga’s chest. The Hand barely had the time for a shocked expression before life slipped from his eyes and he slumped to the ground.

Silence descended, only broken by their strained breathing .

“We really need to stop doing this,” Obi-Wan finally groaned, levering himself up from the floor.

His face was so white it almost looked bloodless, but he didn’t seem physically injured except for a few minor burns. Anakin sank into the Force and extended his sight towards his former Master. Usually, Obi-Wan was a bonfire of light in the Force, burning almost as brightly as Anakin himself, and that shining core of him was still there, untainted, but the edges of his presence flickered oddly, wavering in and out of existence.

On instinct, Anakin reached out through their bond, leaving his mind open to attack in a way that even younglings knew not to – but he would never regret sharing his own energy to shore up Obi-Wan’s flagging levels. Obi-Wan would never take more energy from him than what he desperately needed, and even now with an ashen face and flickering presence his former Master only reluctantly drew energy from Anakin into his own presence.

Some colour had returned to Obi-Wan’s cheeks, though he still looked pale. “Thank you, Anakin.”

In the moment Anakin had to study them before Obi-Wan changed form again, wings breaking forth from his back, and at last they seemed returned to normal, emitting a healthy glow that struck him as even lighter with the black markings gone.

Without warning Anakin stepped forwards and drew Obi-Wan in a bone-crushing hug. Sometimes he still marvelled at his newfound allowance to simply _touch_ the other man, without worrying about the Code and Obi-Wan’s own stiff reaction. It wasn’t the first time Obi-Wan relaxed into his hold, the hard lines of his body smoothing against Anakin’s warmth, but it never ceased to feel special.

“I’m fine, Anakin, I’m all right,” Obi-Wan murmured, followed by more soothing nonsense that only half an hour ago Anakin would’ve given everything to hear and now mostly amused him.

Finally Obi-Wan stirred. “We should check on the Queen, make sure the Naboo are on top of things now that Droga isn’t a problem anymore.”

Anakin nodded silently, mind flashing to Padmé.

As it turned out, their concern had been entirely misplaced – Padmé clearly had things well in hand. Anakin watched her move about in the temporary command centre, calmly giving orders to all kinds of people, even ones who she didn’t technically have superiority over, and tried not to drown in the tide of familiar _aweadmiration_ that his wife in her element always incited. Next to him, just for a moment, Obi-Wan looked similarly besotted before his face smoothed out again.

Quinlan Vos strode into the command centre half an hour after all danger had passed, looking entirely unconcerned and very much pleased with himself.

Anakin raised a brow. “Where’ve you been?”

Quinlan’s smirk very much resembled the cat that got the cream. “I found the darksider’s ship – and his backup.” His smile, impossibly, sharpened further. “They won’t be a problem.”

Obi-Wan shot him a swift smile in gratitude, then said somewhat wryly, “I don’t suppose we can convince you that the danger has now passed and you can get back to Coruscant to more important matters?”

“Not fucking likely,” Quinlan snorted. “With the way you three are carrying on I’ve little doubt the next person trying to kill you all is already lining up.”

Anakin could physically see the urge to deny that statement pass over Obi-Wan’s face before the other man sighed, resigned. It wasn’t like Quinlan didn’t have a point.

“Just leave us in peace for a few days, will you?” Obi-Wan asked, vaguely motioning with his hand.

Quinlan’s eyes danced between the three of them and he smirked. “Believe me, I don’t want to disturb _that_.” For a moment his eyes lingered on Obi-Wan. “Well, actually I might, but” – he jerked his thumb towards Anakin, who was bristling – “that guy would probably do something unfortunately to my balls and I happen to be quite fond of them.”

Obi-Wan’s lips twitched, even as he laid a calming hand on Anakin’s shoulder. “Get out of here, Quinlan. We’ll let you know if anything comes up.”

Anakin was already wincing when Quinlan took the opening. “Oh, I’m sure _something_ will,” he leered, and then disappeared before Obi-Wan’s hand could make impact with the back of his head, leaving only a little swirl of dust in his wake.

“What a wanker,” Anakin grumbled unconvincingly. Quinlan was the kind of person who grew on you with prolonged exposure, until when you’d finally got rid of him, you turned around at random moments expecting him to be there with a smartass comment and feeling slightly bereft when he wasn’t. On second thought, he had quite a bit in common with Obi-Wan there.

As if following his line of thought, Obi-Wan scowled at him.  Anakin grinned back, unrepentant.

*

Once the two of them had finally managed to make it to the bed, sleep proved long in coming. The absence of Padmé in their little trio was glaring – it hardly seemed possible they’d become so used to their current configuration already, but there they were, two Jedi unable to sleep because they were missing their bed partner.

After the third time Anakin shifted around wildly enough to dislodge the blankets carefully drawn up around Obi-Wan, who was the biggest, _meanest_ blanket-hogger ever, Obi-Wan growled, “Anakin, I swear to the Force if you don’t settle _down_ – ”

“Sorry,” Anakin mumbled mulishly. “I’m just… restless.”

Anakin’s neck prickled. Obi-Wan must be giving him a Look. “Yes, I’d noticed that.”

Anakin didn’t have to explain why – Obi-Wan already knew. After all, he hadn’t been any more successful in his attempts to sleep either.

“What was Droga after anyway?” Anakin asked, giving up on sleep for the moment. “Was he just that offended by your ugly mug?”

Obi-Wan shot him a dry look. “You were perfectly happy to praise my ugly mug a few hours ago.”

Anakin went red.

Obi-Wan smirked, but took enough pity on him to change the subject. “Revenge for his Master. He thought I killed Palpatine, he said as much. With my ‘light side perversion’,” Obi-Wan said, at his most derisive. Considering how well he did casually arrogant for a supposedly humble Jedi, that was very derisive indeed.

“Um, Obi-Wan, you do realise that’s kind of true? I may have dealt the killing blow, but without you, without _all_ aspects of you, I would never have had the chance.”

Obi-Wan turned his head, looking slightly red around the ears and huffed into his pillow.

Anakin took pity on him, and not because he not-so-secretly thought Obi-Wan was adorable when embarrassed. “So how many apprentices _did_ Palpatine have?”

Obi-Wan shrugged, ear-colour returned to normal. “Droga called himself ‘Emperor’s Hand’. I doubt that he was the only one. Why have one ‘hand’ when you can have ten?”

“ _Emperor_? There is no empire.”

“That’s what I said. Apparently Palpatine had grand plans and little doubt they’d come to fruition –until we trampled all over them.”

“Good,” Anakin said viciously. He still dreamed of Palpatine’s kindly smile. The mere thought of how he’d regarded the man as something of a father figure now made him shudder.

Sympathy shone from Obi-Wan’s eyes, but he didn’t say anything, only shifted a little closer to him on the bed. These days, that was enough.

Maybe they’d seen the last of Palpatine’s machinations, maybe not, but for the moment it didn’t matter because this was what healing felt like.

*

Anakin wandered through the empty house, wondering where the hell his two lovers – lovers? Was that the right word? – could be hiding. After the last stunt, Obi-Wan had promised him not to leave the estate without forewarning again, and anyway Anakin could sense their presences nearby, he just couldn’t find the bodies to go with them.

With a small sigh, he closed his eyes, centring himself in the Force and reached for the two bright spots now permanently residing in the back of his mind. _Up_ , the Force whispered readily. Anakin frowned. As far as he knew the house didn’t have an accessible roof and Obi-Wan didn’t tend to flaunt his – ah, but of course Obi-Wan wouldn’t need to use a Force jump to get to the roof.

Anakin smiled to himself, privately delighted that his partner was finally starting to use his wings again.

He let his feet carry him outside to the veranda, still distracted by the mental image of Obi-Wan using those great wings. Or indeed, carrying Padmé while flying through the sky. Anakin turned to the roof and looked up.

They made a beautiful picture, the two of them sitting on the roof. Obi-Wan’s wings, purely golden once more after Droga had pulled the remaining dark side energy into himself, fluttered gently in the breeze. It didn’t take a particularly smart person to figure out that Obi-Wan was much more comfortable with his extra appendages again now that that worry at least was dealt with. A week ago he’d never have allowed himself to curl one wing protectively around Padmé as he was now, her smaller frame all but disappearing under a cloak of light.

Then Obi-Wan called down, finally having had enough of Anakin’s staring, “Are you joining us some time this century, Anakin?”

“It’s not me who has to worry about the passing of time, old man,” Anakin shot back, but he did gather the Force around him to jump. He could never even pretend not to follow the two goofs on the roof anywhere they wanted, led by an invisible magnet.

Landing cat-footed on the edge of the roof, Anakin settled himself on Obi-Wan’s other side. He shivered pleasantly as the second wing curled around him from behind, exuding palpable warmth. He could get used to this, he thought, leaning even closer into Obi-Wan’s side. He could definitely get used to this.

*

“How is it,” Mace said, sounding – much like he always did – as if he was about to lose the last shreds of his patience, “that you two managed to find trouble during your _leave_ on a notoriously peaceful planet?”

Next to him Obi-Wan muttered something almost indistinguishable that Anakin interpreted as ‘never peaceful when we’re on the bloody planet’. The comment was as depressing as it was accurate, and Anakin decided in short order not to think about the implications of Naboo + members of The Team = disaster too much.

“Well, you know how Master Obi-Wan is about trouble,” he said instead, in that obnoxiously cheerful tone of voice that always drove Mace up the wall.

“While I do realise that Kenobi is the biggest attraction for trouble this side of the Rishi maze,” Mace growled, “ _you_ are certainly always to be found in the middle of it too, Skywalker.”

Obi-Wan snorted while Anakin adopted his best ‘who me?’ look – which according to Obi-Wan was about as convincing as someone claiming a stepdancing bantha was a normal occurrence because he was _always_ guilty of something (not always of the thing he was actually accused of, but certainly just generally guilty).

“In any case, regardless of who landed who in trouble, your leave is – ”

“Mace,” Obi-Wan interrupted, sounding suspiciously gentle, “if the next word out of your mouth is ‘cancelled’ we’re going to have a problem because I fully intend to enjoy at least one week of peace on Naboo to recover from all this before returning to Coruscant.”

Mace scowled. “I remember the days when you had less backbone and more deference for you elders, Kenobi.”

Obi-Wan’s gaze didn’t waver, not so much as a muscle twitching in his face.

“Fine. You’ve got a week, but you’ll both better be ready for a long debriefing when you get back.”

“Of course, Master,” they chimed in unison.

“You’re a pain in my ass, the both of you,” Mace grumbled, sounding far less put out than he was probably aiming for, and his hologram flickered out of existence.

Obi-Wan kept staring blindly ahead, looking somewhat morose, for another moment, then shook his head. “Better make the best of this week then.”

Anakin didn’t actually mind that much, and he suspected that neither did Obi-Wan, truly – they weren’t made for inaction, not when there was still a person in the galaxy who needed their help. Considering its current war-torn state, there were bound to be rather more than one who did.

“Good thing Padmé works on Coruscant too,” was the only thing he said, which earned him Obi-Wan’s patented ‘you’re not as subtle as you think you are, actually you’re not the least bit subtle you might as well give up the pretence now’ look.

“Indeed.”

But though his tone was filled with irony, Obi-Wan’s face said nothing of the sort. Not that Anakin had needed reassurance; he hadn’t been the _slightest_ bit worried that what they’d so painstakingly built here on Naboo wouldn’t leave the planet with them.

 _/You’re an idiot,/_ Obi-Wan’s voice murmured in his mind, as warm and comfortable as ever.

Anakin didn’t mind so much, as long as he was _Obi-Wan’s_ idiot. And Padmé’s of course, but that had always been a certainty.

*

The week flew by with all the subtlety of a star cruiser breaking a dozen speed laws, and before Anakin knew it, he was staring through the ship’s viewport at the glittering lights of Coruscant below. Well, as much as there was direction in space. anyway. Anakin had never been bothered the dark emptiness stretching everywhere around them, revelled in it as a sign of his freedom, but these days he was more conscious of the slight discomfort that sometimes marred Obi-Wan’s brow when staring out of viewports, the way his wings shuffled closer to his body ever so slightly in the rare moments that he forwent hiding them beneath his skin. Anakin counted it a victory that Obi-Wan left his wings out at all these days.

A presence stepped to his side, shining dark hair curling toward his shoulder in its own imitation of a grounding touch as Padmé leaned against him, as always fitting perfectly against his side.

“We’ll be fine,” she murmured and Anakin had long ago given up on trying to figure out how she _always_ knew. He was supposed to be the Force-sensitive here, and yet Padmé just got people in a way that he suspected no Jedi ever would. Anakin might only be three-quarters Jedi, one quarter forever stuck between dunes under unrelenting sun, but he was Jedi enough to feel the dissociation between them and the rest of the galaxy – the quarter only made sure that he was aware of it too.

Another presence, equally warm and bright, made itself comfortable on his other side.

“She’s right, you know,” Obi-Wan said, mellow voice tinged with a hint of amusement. “I could feel you fretting all the way on the other side of the ship.”

When Obi-Wan turned his head to look at the other man, a sparkle of mischief greeted him in changeable eyes, and he could feel Padmé’s grin even through the layer of his shirt.

“You two will be the death of me.”

The familiar complaint, though usually uttered by Obi-Wan, caused even more mirth.

“I rather think we’ll all be the death of each other,” Padmé corrected. “Much more poetic that way.”

Obi-Wan snorted. “Poetry has had little to do with my life so far.”

Anakin felt his own smile widen. “Then don’t you think we should change that?”

Amusement now mingled with faint exasperation from his left, flowed together with unspoken laughter tinkling in the Force from his right, and Anakin, right at the heart of everything, let his own light ripple outward. Let the galaxy try to beat them down again – this time, they would be ready.

***

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> cyar'ika (Mando'a) - darling, beloved, sweetheart  
> kachalla - dearheart  
> dopa-maskey kung (Huttese) - two-faced scum


End file.
